End of Days
by RoweenaC
Summary: Accidental spoilers for concepts in S5! Sequel to Links. Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways..."So, you really think you could do it? Kill me? Kill Sammy?” AU after events in 4.21
1. The Morning Star

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**Title:** End of Days  
**Author:** RoweenaC**  
Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter:** 1/?, The Morning Star  
**Warnings: **death of minor character in first chapter, possible future deaths, SPoilers for current season so far up to 4.18  
**Summary: **Set right after **my theory how 4.22 will end **... if that doesn't make sense, go read my personal LJ... *shameless plugging*

***Spoilers for everything up to 4.18 and maybe beyond, dunno how the show will continue***

**"Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts. _It ends now. I'm ending it. _Not happening. Never."**

Lots of **angst** and graphic **torment** (mental and physical), therefore and for some future swearwords and gory action **rated M.**

Thanks to **my beta **for her patience and beta'ing.

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**End of Days**

_by RoweenaC_

_Chapter 1: The Morning Star_

"I will ascend to heaven;  
I will raise my throne above the stars of God;  
I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly,  
on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain.  
I will ascend above the tops of the clouds;  
I will make myself like the Most High."

~Isaiah, 14: 13-14~

His eyes hadn't changed. They were the same color, shape and size. No demonic opacity. Not anymore.

But Sam … _Sammy_ was gone. Cold, calculating and victorious, those same eyes stared back at him. Dean swallowed against the sob constricting his airways. His fist tightened around the cool, reassuring hilt of the only weapon left to him. Ruby's knife.

Though he focused on Sam's form looming in front of him, he was oddly aware of his surroundings, how the gravel beneath his boots _click_ed with every step. How the soft nightly breeze smelled of salt and seaweed. How the waves rolled against the shore in a distance.

"So, you really think you could do it? Kill me? Kill _Sammy_?"

Sarcasm oozed from the words like pus from an infected, necrotic wound. A vicious leer contorted Sam's too familiar features, the sea breeze ruffling his unruly strands of brown hair even more. His posture portrayed alertness and mild curiosity. Not the faintest glimpse of fear noticeable, Sam's arms hung loosely to his sides.

Dean gagged. Tears stung in his events of the last hours threatened to overpower him. Lilith's host, a pretty red-head, limply dangling in his arms. Sam's insane laughter filling the sudden silence that had engulfed the beach afterwards. "I stopped it! Dean,_ I_ stopped it!" His heart had shattered there and then when he saw his sibling's eyes cloud with demonic opacity.

Witnessing his brother kill Lilith had felt utterly wrong. Instinct had told him so and he had been distraught to find out he had been right. How could he have known? Why the hell hadn't Castiel told him he had to stop Sam from killing Lilith in order to prevent Lucifer from rising?

Yet, rationally, he knew he wouldn't have been able to stop Sam. Determined and stubborn, Sam wouldn't have listened. He had been too sure. Anger welled up in Dean. Fate had again destroyed their lives; good intentions had again been twisted back on them. How were they ever supposed to win if destiny intervened each and every time? Were they supposed to win at all? Or was the war itself their only purpose? Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts. _It ends now. I'm ending it. _Not happening. Never.

Lifting his right hand holding the knife ready to strike, he moved forward hesitantly, searching for a lingering trace of his brother in the tall figure casting a blurred shadow over the bodies lying between them. He had to make sure that there was absolutely no trace left of his brother in the body standing and waiting idly a few feet away. Had to make sure in order to kill the empty shell now before it was too late. To kill the man waiting for him, smirking at him amused by a joke only he understood. To kill him and prevent the apocalypse.

However, at the same time every fiber in Dean's body screamed for the opposite, wishing for his brother to still be somewhere in there, incarcerated but there. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Sam again. Of a life without him. He had been forced to see his brother die in his arms, to live forty years without him, to find Sam had changed after his return, to witness his sibling use his demonic powers, to find out his brother was drinking that_ hell-bitch's_ tainted blood and finally, to see a demonic presence assuming control over Sam's body. Yet, after all this he was still incapable of giving up on Sam.

_Pleasepleasepleaseplease. Sammy?_

Closely observing the man in front of him, Dean felt a shiver running up and down his spine. There was definitely something odd about the familiar lanky figure. He appeared to be exactly the same man yet something seemed to flicker around him, like a mirage. Peering intently at him, Dean realized that Sam's shadow was weirdly misshapen. Too broad around his shoulders. Dean allowed his eyes to follow the gray line imprinted in the rubble and nearly stumbled when he recognized what it meant. Wings.

Not like the feathery, graceful wings of Castiel or the other angels. Leathery, fierce and ragged, like dragon wings. Holes and fissures drew a maniacal pattern on their surface. Distracted, Dean wondered how he was able to see them at all. The sky was still clad in nightly satin, even though the morning star announced the break of a new day in the chill of the waning night.

But just then, the moonlight glinted off the blade in his hand. His eyes rose to the full, pallid orb hanging in the nightly sky and he tightened his grip around the hilt determinedly, head lowered again. He had to do it._ Come on, Dean. It's not him anymore_. Trying to steel himself for the dreadful task appointed to him by unfathomable fate, he headed closer to Sam.

Tried and failed. Again.

How could he kill _that thing _when he wasn't even sure that his sibling was really gone? There was no way to be sure. He faltered and nearly lost his footing, gazed up toward Sam and noticed he was still too far out of reach. Lowering his chin, he deliberately straightened and stepped ahead again.

It was a torturous trip. Only a few feet but they felt like light years. He knew he could kill anything but the act of plunging the knife into Sam seemed undo-able. After all the atrocities in hell, after the indifference born from them, he still wasn't sure he could do this.

He noticed that he had started to pant as if he had been running for miles. Yet at the same time Dean felt like he was walking through molasses, time expanded and the internal battle tore him apart. He stumbled again.

"Hm. You seem tired, Dean. Maybe you should go back to the motel and sleep, gather your strength and try again another time? Not that you'd have a chance then. It's too late anyway. The _End of Days_ has come. _My_ time." Sam's tall frame silhouetted by the moon behind him, seemed to pulsate and grow.

Dean tensed, eyes blazing contempt and resolution; yet, his hand trembled when he readied himself for the lethal blow. The moonlight softened Sam's merciless eyes, renewing the spark of doubt in Dean's heart. Was it possible that Sam was still in there? He shivered at the idea of Sam being trapped inside his body while the demon made the calls. Condemned to stand by and watch. He had to free Sammy from this fate. However, it would mean he'd had to kill Sam alongside with the thing. Kill his baby bro'.

_Do it!_ _You promised!_

John. It was always John's voice in the end, when all resolve was dwindling, when hope and strength seemed to wilt away. Obedience was the usual response to his father's commanding tone. This time however, Dean's arm fell weakly to his side, his fist opened and the knife tumbled harmlessly to the pebbled ground. Dean watched it come to rest on a white large stone, the runes reflected on his face in a pale moonbeam. _I can't do it. Rather die than kill Sam. _

His senses picked up on nature's life signs around him, taking them in in a last good-bye. Waves rolled in, indifferently crashing against the bigger rocks, breaking the surf. Birds began to twitter. In the east, the horizon grayed pushing the darkness slowly away. How could it be the end of the world when everything seemed so normal, peaceful? No brimstone and sulfuric fumes staining the air, no fires flaring up, no earthquakes or stars falling from the sky. Just a peaceful, early summer morning.

Apart from the corpses going into rigor all around him. Soon, the carrion birds would swoop down and feast on them; eyes first, highly nourishing and easy to reach. Dean's remorseful gaze gently flowed over some of their faces.

A woman in her mid thirties, a friend of Bobby's, her dark brown eyes an eternal accusation, her curly black hair plastered to her skull by the slowly drying blood. The right hand still held her sword.

A random teenager, his face frozen in a look of surprise, his head at an odd, limp angle. His football, lying mere ten feet from him, was sprinkled with blood from other victims.

A small child seeming to be asleep, yet the ghostly pallor of her face and the blue, anemic heart shaped lips betrayed the peaceful appearance. The crimson gash in her chest clashed horribly with her white dress. Her mother still reached out for her, even in death, eyes wide in shock. The blade that had run her through stuck out of her back like a flagpole and nailed her eternally to the ground.

Two fierce male hunters, battle proven and once menacing, their shotguns ready to fire, fingers still locked around the triggers, their faces masks of forceful determination. They lay back to back, like statues tipped sideways, frozen in battle.

Ellen.

Dean averted his eyes. Tears welled up but refused to spill over. Blissful numbness spread through his limbs and crept into his heart.

Out of nowhere, using Dean's distraction to his own gain, Sam (_was it still?_) advanced on Dean crossing the few feet between them in two long strides. The younger man picked up the neglected blade and ran it upwards, through Dean's belly in one swift and powerful motion and buried it into the soft tissue to the hilt. Immediately, a gush of warm, red blood stained the worn out fabric of Dean's gray T-shirt, spread down his front to darken the waistband of his jeans with sticky moisture.

The world spun. Dean's breathing became ragged and labored, sweat beaded his forehead, coherent thought was banned from his consciousness. Unable to find the strength to remain standing, Dean sagged forward, sinking to his knees, his right hand clutched at the knife protruding from his abdomen, eyes never leaving his brother's face a mere ten inches from his own. His left hand crawled up along Sam's arm to reach for his tall brother's shoulder for physical support as well as for comfort. Dean slowly pulled himself back to his feet, trembling from exertion and gasping in pain.

Sam's mouth was pulled into a vicious grin, baring his teeth, as one over-sized hand reached for the knife's hilt again. Indifferent of Dean's obvious agony, he allowed the older man to find his balance. Curious and waiting for his next chance to inflict more suffering.

Both men held their gazes, desperate green eyes staring into hazel. Sam's warm and understanding eyes had been replaced by beacons of cold fire looking back intrigued yet detached as Dean peered into Sam's face to search for remnants of his brother.

The injured hunter grabbed Sam's collar and pulled the taller man closer to him while fighting to remain upright. His lips parted but Dean only heard a hitching breath escape his own mouth. The words appeared to be stuck in his throat. Speechless, his eyes dove into Sam's, desperately trying to reach out for the man he _knew_ was still deep inside. _Had to be_.

The silent plea for Sam to resurface, to fight the Devil, went unanswered. Finally, defeat born from acceptance washed over Dean and heavy eyelids began to droop. His face contorted in a tortured spasm when his brother (_Sammy wouldn't_..._)_ turned the knife half way and pulled it out. Still, no sound escaped Dean. A shallow, hissing, quivering breath stole its way out between his pale lips as Dean's knees buckled and finally gave way. The rubble buried itself deep into his legs, the thick denim barely softening the sharp edges. The harsh stinging sensation however, caused a rush of adrenaline and heightened Dean's consciousness a little.

Sam (_Sam's gone._..) bent down and grabbed hold of Dean's shirt, bringing the half-conscious hunter close to his face once more. Strong and powerful, Sam's fist closed around Dean's throat, obstructing his windpipe and making it even harder to breathe. Dean choked and wriggled limply in the vice-like grip. His eyes bulged in their sockets and his Adam's apple worked hard against the hand hindering the flow of desperately needed oxygen.

"Ugh," a guttural sound escaped him. Sam loosened his grip a fraction, if only to provoke false hope for survival.

"You could've stopped it, Dean. You were the only one. Hilarious, if you think of it. A self-hating, pathetic failure like you was supposed to be my downfall."

Mockery and contempt were undeniable but they served as a fountain of strength for Dean. He opened his eyes fully with an effort, trying to ignore the moisture soaking his clothes to the skin, chilling him. To ignore the stabbing, throbbing heat in his belly and the fire burning in his lungs. To ignore how much he wanted to rest, to sleep.

"I am _NOT_ … a failure. I _WILL_ … stop you!" A hoarse whisper but audible in the morning silence. Strength he maybe didn't possess anymore, laced his words. Dean gasped and swallowed, a shudder ran through his moribund body.

"Oh really? I'm intrigued! Tell me, how're you gonna do _that_? You're dead meat. Like all the others. Look around you!" Dean was relieved beyond knowledge when the hand clutched around his neck suddenly vanished completely. The demon's (_not Sammy, no more_) free arm moved in a half-circle, a gesture indicating familiar faces along with complete strangers. Lifeless bodies lying piled up in a tangle of arms and legs or strewn carelessly along the beach like discarded dolls.

Hazel eyes found their weary green counterparts again. Megalomaniac self-confidence blazed in them. As if talking to a child, Sam's voice explained, "No-one can stop me now. Don't you understand? You failed. The minute Sam killed Lilith, the last seal was broken. There is no going back. It's over."

"'S not … over. I can still..." _So Lilith's death was the last seal. Oh Sammy, what've you done! It's HIM! _The sudden revelation was interrupted by Lucifer's arrogant taunts.

"You can still _what_? Kill Sammy? Sorry bro', you had your chance. Let's face it, even that witch's blade wouldn't leave a mark on me. You've got no weapon that could kill me. I am stronger than the others, y'know?"

_The knife_... _Ruby! Where the heck is that hell-bitch when I need her?_ Trying to look at the piles of bodies to his left and right, Dean searched for the hateful dark haired demon. But either his vision was too impaired by his injuries or she had fled the scene. _Cowardly little slut. _

Sam's voice paused and his head turned away from Dean, glancing sideways, contemplative. "Honestly, I don't get the angels. How could they delude themselves into putting all their hopes in _you_? Especially, if it meant you'd have to kill Sam? They must've known you'd never be able to pull that off... John would have been capable of doing it. But then again, he was always stronger than you. In life and in hell. I should thank you for being such a wuss. Your failure brought on my reign. Thanks to you, I will rule the world and even _God_ can't stop me now."

Sam's (_no, not Sam, Lucifer, oh, my god... Lucifer_) mouth twisted disgustedly around the mention of _God_ as if the word tasted like bile. Dean felt his awareness ebbing away and he considered giving in. Lucifer's eyes brightened when he recognized his victim's weakness.

"That's it, Dean. Rest, sleep. Why fight when there is no chance of winning? You should give up. It's the logical thing to do." The familiar voice lulled the injured Winchester into a semi-somnolent state, reality slipped through his mind's grasp and he was tempted to succumb to indifference completely. Exhaustion enveloped Dean with its suffocating web, however, he struggled to stay awake, unwilling to give in to the promise of painless and comforting oblivion just yet. His hand on Sam's collar slackened and threatened to fall to his side. Forcefully, he concentrated on regaining his grip. He wasn't prepared to let go yet, to let go of Sam.

"Find... a way. Kill... you!" Through clenched teeth, agony audible in each syllable, Dean spat his challenge into Lucifer's face. His eyelids began to flutter from the strain and a cough ran spasms through his limp body.

Sam's right eyebrow quirked upward, coldly amused. An expression so _un_-Sam it nearly forced a pitiful whimper from Dean's lips. He caught himself just in time, gasping out his breath tonelessly instead.

"Y'know, Dean. You don't know when to give up, do you? I think you need a little persuading..." Sam's hand dropped the knife carelessly and reached for the violent gash in Dean's belly. Fingers prodded and poked, softly at first but growing in force constantly. Cold hazel eyes observed the results of their hands actions closely. Not fearful. Not angry or mean. Simply interested, like a scientist observing a rat in mortal agony poisoned by a drug overdose. Detached and curious.

Dean clamped his jaws shut, lips pressed tightly together to keep in the scream building up inside him. Hot bolts of pain fired up along his spine, congregating at the base of his skull where they burst in an agonizing explosion. He never heard his own tormented scream, oblivion was too sudden.

***

He had waited too long. Surely, there was no way the hunter could still be alive, now. Remorse and worry washed over him. Emotions. Very disturbing yet he _felt_ them! During his hurried descent, he marveled at the novelty of emotions. They terrified him but they flushed his whole existence with a new purpose, a new strength he would have never thought possible. _So that's what made Anna do it_.

Castiel alighted right behind the lifeless body of his charge and snatched Dean from Lucifer's careless hands. The adversary's grip had loosened just after Dean had lost consciousness and he had been watching the slack face with contentment, oblivious to the angel's approach. Wordlessly, Castiel rose, Dean cradled in his arms and narrowly avoiding Lucifer's wrath, he hastened to safety.

A roar of anger burst out of Sam's lungs when he registered his negligence. Straightening up to his full height he bellowed "_NO_! He is mine! Mine to destroy!" and made a step into Castiel's direction only to find the angel had melted into nothingness in front of him.

Furious at having his prize snatched from his grasp, Lucifer flicked one hand in a gesture encompassing the bodies around him, choosing the corpses as scapegoats for his wrath. Flames immediately licked hungrily at hair and skin, smoldering. And finally hell's inferno broke loose. The wind gained in strength growing into a gale, sulfuric smoke filled the air. The stench of roasting human flesh lured the carrion birds toward the place sooner than expected and they descended in graceful circles downwards to feast.

Sam's tall figure stood in the middle of the swirling flames and smoke and watched. A sneer cut his soft features in half when Lucifer listened to Sam's tormented screams echoing inside his mind. The imprisoned owner of his meat suit howled in mental agony. The atrocities committed by Lucifer using his body and the grave mistake concerning his revenge on Lilith were the ultimate punishment, ultimate torture.

Lucifer rejoiced. Sam was on the brink of insanity. Good.

**

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End notes: **

Morning Star and Lucifer/Satan

Lucifer means _Light Bringer_ or _Light Bearer_ and was initially used to characterize persons of immense power and influence in the Bible (even Christ is labeled as _Morning Star_ on more than one occasion).

Both meanings are originally associated with the _Morning Star_ (Venus), the brightest "star" in the sky, outshining all the others. The fact that Venuses light vanishes during the night was one of the reasons to link Venus to the legend about Satan'el falling from the Heavens. Satan'el, being the brightest and fairest of all the angels, refused to bow to humanity and thus was cast down to fly over the abyss for all times. The fact that Venus is not visible at night, only in the morning and evening, symbolized Satan'el's downfall. Thus, the term Lucifer became a synonym for Satan.

Additional information can be found on _wikipedia_.


	2. Gehenna

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author:** RoweenaC**  
Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter:** 2/?, Gehenna  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for current season up to 4.18 and possibly beyond depending on how the show's arch develops... Extremely angsty (on Sam's part this time) and again some graphic violence inflicted on poor Dean  
**Summary: **Set right after **MY 4.22 **

**"Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts. _It ends now. I'm ending it. _Not happening. Never."**

Lots of **angst** and graphic **torment** (mental and physical), therefore and for some future swearwords and gory action **rated M.**

Thanks to **my beta CAL **for her patience and beta'ing.

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_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

_Chapter 02: Gehenna_

_...But if a man walk in the night, he stumbleth, because there is no light in him... ~St. John, 12:10~_

Sam woke up to impenetrable darkness. He looked around searchingly, blind and deaf. No sound reached his ears. Did he still have ears? He moved bodilessly, a hovering entity devoid of physical boundaries yet strangely tethered to his dark realm. He knew without a second of a doubt he was a prisoner. _How_ he would know escaped his befuddled mind.

His thoughts tried to reassemble, to find chronology again. Wild images of violence zigzagged through his memory. Ruby cutting open her arm for him to drink. Dean being torn to shreds by the hell hound. His father dead on the cool linoleum. Alastair's host limply sliding down to the floor. Lilith's host choking, while Sam killed the demon inside her. Dean's shocked eyes.

Manifold, conflictive emotions accompanied those memories. Power, endless grief, wrath, shame, loss, vindictive jubilation. Sam felt dizzied, disoriented. The onslaught of pictures and feelings threatened to crush him and created a sense of vertigo. With an immense effort he assumed control over his derailed mind. Shaky and unsteady but control nevertheless.

Once the quickly flowing stream of memories had subsided a little, darkness returned with full force, leaving him gasping for air, for freedom. This kind of darkness was not like the one he would find in his sleep, no comfort and warmth enveloped him. It was a sharp, cold, suffocating living entity that had wrapped itself around him, trying to choke him, to tie him and slowly crush him.

A sudden fit of claustrophobia took possession of his already assaulted existence. Sam tried to wriggle and writhe, alas having no arms or legs to use as leverage he recognized how futile his attempts were. Deciding to calm himself he mentally started counting. Usually, he would have tried to ease out his breathing along with it but no lungs meant no breath. Fighting another panic attack fueled by the irrational fear of suffocation, Sam desperately searched for a way to find comfort.

The scene blossoming in the darkness right before him immediately calmed the internal, emotional uproar instantly.

"_'S okay, Sammy. It was just a bad dream. C'mere. Lemme read you a story. What do you wanna hear today? Batman or Spidy?"_

_His brother, maybe 8 or 9 years-old, was sitting on a worn-out mattress, cradling a scared and crying, pale faced Sammy in his arms, rocking back and forth to soothe the smaller boy's sorrow. Dean held out two comic books in front of Sammy's tear soaked face and the little boy pointed, breath hitching pitifully, toward the Spiderman comic. _

"_Spidy it is then! Let's see if he defeats Venom once and for all, huh?"_

"_Vv-enom is a ss-on of a bi-hitch." Muffled by tears and snot coming out of his nose, Sammy's hiccuping voice was barely audible. Dean reached for the tissue box on the nightstand, plucked one from it and helped Sammy blow his nose. A slight hint of disgust flashed across the freckled, pale face when he threw the tissue into the bin._

"_Whoa, kiddo, don't let dad hear you say that. He'll have my ass for teaching you swearwords. But you're right. He is a sonuvabitch." He smirked at Sammy and was rewarded with a lopsided, teary smile and eternal hero-worship shining from puffy, red eyes. _

Dissolving into blackness, the scene left Sam smiling gratefully. At least he thought he was. Having no mouth definitely complicated smiling... And he was glad he had no face for the first time because he was certain that it would have been covered with tears of longing and nostalgia.

_'Enjoying your stay, I see?'_

The voice seemed to originate from all around him, disoriented again he peered eyelessly into the dense blackness trying to find the source. The presence, he recognized, was identical with the evil darkness surrounding him and Sam felt the impenetrable shell ripple with malice. Shivering, he straightened up and attempted to answer the sneer with strained indifference. Only he found he had no voice.

_'Oh? You wanna say something? Try thinking for a change...' _The presence snickered at its feeble joke and the blackness vibrated in huge waves mimicking laughter.

Sam tried to appear calm and in control, when at the same time he suspected the presence would be aware of his fears anyway. He deliberately chose a cool attitude, praying it would reflect back onto his anxiety and erase it.

_'Who are you? Where... am I?'_ The questions echoed dully in the dark density and Sam felt the underlying panic in them too clearly. Angry with himself he attempted a snide remark. _'You know, you don't have to hide, I won't harm you!'_

Silence. Then a roar of laughter filled Sam's mind threatening to blow his head... if he had one.

_'Not bad. Not bad at all. You're evolving. As a comedian at least.' _Chuckling softly, the presence went on. _'Are you sure you want to know the truth? It might be... hard to stomach.'_

Unable to resist another wave of panic, Sam reacted instinctively before he could stop himself, _'What... I mean who are you and what've you done to me? Where's my brother?' _The whining undertone made Sam gag at his own neediness.

_'Easy tiger.' _Sam winced when the familiar nickname was directed at him unexpectedly but he held his silence this time.

_'Why don't I just show you where you are? I'm sure the rest will come to you right away... After all, you_ are _the genius in this family, aren't you?'_

The darkness began to shimmer like gossamer even before Sam had a chance to "voice" his consent. The black fabric disintegrated, became translucent and finally crumbled away. Sam squinted in the sudden brightness of the moonlit beach and recollection hit him hard.

_'Wha.. where... where's Dean?' _Incapable of looking at the bodies strewn all across the gravelly shore, Sam glanced around hoping to see his brother's familiar, broad shouldered and slightly bow-legged figure standing upright instead of lying among the dead. For a few seconds his virtual heartbeat sped up when he was unable to find Dean.

Then his point of view changed as if an invisible camera angle somehow widened and swerved slightly to his left. Sam watched as a slouched silhouette tentatively approached his position. He tried to advance on the familiar shape, tried to make himself noticed.

_'What now, Sammy? Shall I kill him or let him live?' _

The voice was evidently pondering its options. Not just taunting him. Sam writhed against the invisible bounds holding him in place, desperate to escape his captor. Desperate to warn Dean stumbling towards his impending doom.

_'No, stop. Let me go, _please_, let me go!' . _

His urgent plea went unheard, the voice droned on regardless.

_'You know, he still thinks you're an innocent victim of the circumstances. Even feels guilty for leaving you alone when he went to hell. Blames himself for your freakish and frankly disgusting addiction.' _

All of a sudden, Sam's struggle led oddly to physical pain when he felt hidden chains bury deep into his imagined flesh. The accusations stung and in defense he twisted and kicked only to make matters worse for himself. Wrists, ankles and throat felt sore and he had the illusion of warm, sticky moisture welling up around his joints. Sam wondered how he was suddenly able to feel his limbs but the sharp cutting sensation quickly eliminated any residual coherent thought. Speechless and broken, confined to his limited range of motion he yielded to the voice's continuing monologue.

_'It would really be an act of deliverance to kill him. If he knew what you've done and what you've become he'd choose to die, trust me. Dean would rather die than see you succumbing to your demonic heritage. I am curious to see how he reacts when he hears of your recent deeds and their meaning. It'll destroy him completely.' _

Cackling vibrations whizzed around the immobilized prisoner. Sam tried hard to focus, to ignore his growing despair and trepidation caused by his vicious captor's insinuations. He had to ask, needed to know.

_'What … 're you... talkin' about?' _

The chain around his throat seemed to shrink a few inches, cutting deep into his tender _(Not real! Not real!)_ skin. For the first time he was glad that he didn't need to breathe in his current state.

_'Well, you'll see... Just wait. It's too easy, honestly.' _The voice sniggered malevolently.

_'Dean'll never think of me as a threat. Not when I'm wearing his baby brother's meat suit. He'll never see it coming. I could just snap his neck with one wave of my … um... sorry, _your_ hand and he'd never see it coming. Tempting. Tempting. Then again, that would be too quick and easy, wouldn't it? We'll just let him come closer and see what happens, shall we? I've got all the time in the world now that I am back. Or until the_ End of Days _to be precise. I'm planning on staying around for a while, y'know? See what I can do about the human pestilence befouling the earth's once divine soil. Aw, Sam. You should've seen the world then. Peaceful and pristine.' _

_Oh my god. No! _Comprehension dawned on Sam and cleared away all rational thought. _What have I done? _Wailing in despair he leaned against his restraints careless about the ensuing agony, in fact, he welcomed it as justified punishment for his reckless and obviously far-reaching act of revenge. How was he supposed to have known? He had killed Lilith to STOP her from breaking the last seal.

The satanic voice had trailed off as apparently memories of _The Beginning of Time_ had caused him to pause his never-ceasing sermon for once..

_'I stopped her! You can't be here!' _Sam yelled with all his might, stubborn denial and outrage prominent in his tone, yet he knew instantly he wouldn't be heard.

Sam refused to accept this unexpected turn of events. Understanding he was a captive in his own body was one thing. But allowing the possibility of Lucifer roaming the earth in _his_ body was too much of a threat to his already crumbling self-confidence. The certainty of having chosen the right way to stop the apocalypse had played an integral part over the previous months. Sam had felt just and he had even jubilated when Lilith had lain defeated at his feet, certain he had saved the world and mankind from annihilation.

Sam's choice was in about to be proven wrong, however. The use of his abilities against better judgment, the willingness to sink to the disgusting depths of drinking demon blood, it all seemed in vain now. Self-proclaimed righteousness threatened to crumble to dust now, and it would take the rest of him along with it. Destroy him beyond repair.

_'Now, now. Don't be like that! After all, you're still alive! A fate that might become very precious some day soon. You'll be unique.' _Lucifer's razor-sharp taunt tore a hole in Sam's soul, leaving the hunter panting and petrified.

_'But let's cut this short. I wanna chat with Dean, now. Maybe you wanna join me? Eavesdropping can be immensely revealing!' _

***

Chuckling to himself, the voice palpably turned its attention toward Sam's sibling standing a few feet away. One hand clasped around Ruby's knife, the other swung loosely at his side while he gazed into Sam's (_not mine anymore_) eyes.

"So, you really think you can do it? Kill me? Kill _Sammy_?"

Sam witnessed his brother's inner battle as Dean pondered the possibility of Sam still being alive, imprisoned but alive, somewhere inside that abomination impersonating his brother. Frustration tore a yell from non-existing lips, yet his voice was silenced by the walls of his dungeon, walls of flesh and bone.

Dean moved forward again, slowly, hesitantly, eyes never leaving his brother's tall frame. Only once ore twice, Dean lowered his gaze and Sam knew he tried to summon up all his strength, willing himself to finish his job. Kill Sam.

The trapped hunter noticed how Dean had started to pant, weary feet stumbling for at least the second time on his slow approach. Dean's obvious exertion prompted Lucifer to vile mockery again.

"Hm. You seem tired, Dean. Maybe you should go back to the motel and sleep, gather your strength and try again another time? Not that you'd have a chance then. It's too late anyway, see? The _End of Days_ has come. _My_ time."

Sam felt an odd pulsating presence building up around him. Eerie and otherworldly. He wondered what Dean was seeing when he registered how the spent hunter in front of him tensed, eyes blazing with contempt and resolution.

Neither Sam nor Lucifer missed how Dean's hand shook as he readied himself for the lethal blow. Only a split second before Dean brought the blade upwards, Sam noticed with horror a spark of doubt in Dean's eyes and he yelled for his brother to save himself or kill Sam's possessed body. NOW.

_'Don't just stand there waiting for Lucifer to kill you! Run!' _

Sam thought he saw a flicker of hope in Dean's eyes and all determination appeared to leave his brother. The knife clattered hollowly to the ground, harmless all of a sudden. And Sam knew, Dean had made a choice. Unable to fulfill his duty, again. A memory, always lurking at the back of his mind, ready to prance and hurt him, stole its way into his worried thoughts. _Sam pressing the gun into Dean's chest and his brother refusing to do it "I can't. I'd rather die."_

Broken-hearted, Sam watched as his sibling turned his head to look at the corpses littering the natural beauty of the beach. And with a pang, Sam recalled the battle earlier that night. How innocent bystanders – a family with two small children, an older man with his dog and a couple in their early twenties – had been accidentally involved in the apocalyptic battle between their small band of hunters and Lilith with her followers.

None of them had survived, neither hunter, nor demon nor civilian.

Sam and Dean had been the only survivors. And oh, how Sam had felt victorious then. How he had relished the moment he had snuffed Lilith's existence like a candle. It had been the ultimate kick. Better than the usual surge of adrenaline during a hunt. Stronger than the elation he felt right after sex. Even more powerful than the moment when Ruby's demonic blood flushed his system to burst into a multicolored symphony of overwhelming strength and confidence.

He had turned around to Dean and yelled his victory in his sibling's direction. Sam shivered. It had all been for nothing. Now, he remembered how Dean's eyes had widened in shock. Remembered the fear in them and overall worry. That moment, Sam had ignored the small voice inside his own heart warning him about the consequences of his deeds. He had felt invincible then. Like a... _god_.

Sickened to his deepest foundations, Sam gagged. He turned his attention back to his brother and noticed a faint sheen of tears in soft, green eyes. Dean's gaze rested on Ellen. Only for an instant before he averted his eyes, remorse visible in every fiber of his body.

Out of nowhere, using Dean's distraction to his own gain, Lucifer attacked Dean while Sam was again screaming for his brother to

_'Get out of here! NOW!'_

Sam saw his own hand pick up the neglected blade. Watching with mortal terror, he winced when Lucifer buried the blade deep into the soft tissue of Dean's belly. Sam trembled and followed the crimson trail of blood with terrified eyes unable to look away.

He didn't feel the phantom pain in his non-existent limbs anymore, didn't care how tight the chain around his throat was by now. All he cared for was his brother. This wasn't happening. He wasn't going to lose Dean all over again. Incapable of processing the scene in front of him he yelled,

_'NO! No, you didn't … DEAN!' _

Despair and all-devouring fury laced his lament and echoed dully around him. Bouncing off invisible boundaries, as his voice found no way out and was thrown back on himself, doubling the initial emotions rather than relieving him.

With horror, Sam saw Dean's breathing became ragged and labored, small pearly beads of sweat shining on his forehead in the pale, pitiless moonlight. Unable to remain standing, Dean sagged forward, sinking to his knees, his right hand clutched at the bloody knife protruding from his abdomen, eyes never leaving his brother's face a mere ten inches from his own. His left hand crawled up along Sam's arm to reach for his tall brother's shoulder, searching physical support as well as comfort in the familiar touch.

Excruciatingly slow, Dean pulled himself back to his feet, trembling from exertion and gasping in agony. Sam leaned forward intent on lending his brother the desperately needed support and was painfully reminded of how futile his endeavor was. He saw disappointment and loneliness fill Dean's agonized eyes when his brother didn't answer his need.

Terrified, Sam witnessed as, yet again, an over-sized hand reached for the knife's hilt and closed around it, waiting motionless. Biding its time for another attempt to torture his already gravely injured brother. Sam tried to avert his gaze, to close his eyes from the impending torment but he couldn't. His eyes obeyed their new master. Cold and all-consuming hatred blossomed inside Sam, like an icy blaze nurtured by his own helplessness as much as by his brother's unmistakable agony.

The injured hunter grabbed Sam's collar and pulled the taller man closer to him while fighting to remain upright. His lips parted but Sam only heard a hitching breath escape Dean's mouth. Dean's searching gaze told him that his brother still believed him to be alive, still hoped for him to fight the Devil. Sam started to push against Lucifer's presence, desperate to regain control for just one moment so he could reassure his brother that Dean was right. There had to be a way to console Dean. _Had to be_.

Yet, as expected, Lucifer too strong and Dean's silent plea went unanswered. Watching Dean's eyes slowly closing in resignation, watching as his warrior of a brother accepted his own defeat Sam leaned against his restraints once more, careless about the resulting cutting sensation.

_'NONONONO! Don't give up, Dean. Not yet! Fight it! Fight _HIM_! You can do it. I was wrong, so wrong. You're strong, stronger than anyone I know. You can stop it, only you can do it. Pleasepleasepleaseplease, Dean! Dammit Dean, it's YOUR JOB!' _

Horror-struck, Sam saw Lucifer's fist_ (not his anymore)_ tighten around the knife's hilt again, getting reading for another assault on Dean's already weakened body. The knife turned, agonizingly slow, half way. Clockwise. Dean paled, rivaling the moon in color, spasm wracking his body. And then Lucifer pulled the knife out. A sickening, smacking sound accompanied the gush of blood. Sam screamed again.

Dean hissed a shallow breath and sank to his knees again. The Impersonator pulled Dean effortlessly back to his feet and began to choke him, relishing the effect of his torture. The sickening joy Lucifer felt engulfed Sam completely, causing a feeling of overwhelming nausea.

Dean's feeble attempts to free himself from Sam's strong hands made the real Sam tremble from head to toe. When it seemed Dean would finally suffocate, Lucifer loosened his grip around Dean's throat and recommenced his verbal attacks, obviously intend on breaking the older Winchester both mentally and physically. Sam guessed his possessor was utterly aware of the effect his torturing Dean had on the younger brother. And it worked. Two for one. A bargain.

"You could've stopped it, Dean. You were the only one. Hilarious, if you think of it. A self-hating, pathetic failure like you was supposed to be my downfall."

Hating the sound of his own voice, hating the words coming out of his own mouth, Sam whimpered. Surprised, he recognized the rejuvenating impact those hurtful taunts seemed to have on Dean. Green eyes opened a fraction and then, certainty as well as powerful, even menacing resentment filled the hoarse whisper flowing over cracked and pallid lips.

"I am _NOT_ … a failure. I _WILL_ … stop you!" Dean shuddered from the obvious strain but regained control over his body just a little too late to hide the agony of the life-threatening injury from his imprisoned brother.

"Oh really? I'm intrigued! Tell me, how're you gonna do _that_? You're dead meat. Like all the others. Look around you!" Sam prayed with all his heart his brother wouldn't believe Lucifer. Dean had to hang on, just a little longer, until... until what actually?

Arrogance rippled through the walls of Sam's prison. "No-one can stop me now. Don't you understand? You failed. The minute Sam killed Lilith, the last seal was broken. There is no going back. It's over."

Sam gasped.

_'No...' _Icicles of remorse spiked their way into his battered heart.

_'Me.'_

_'I... did... this.' _

A swirling, dizzying sensation washed over him, robbing him of his senses. He didn't follow the conversation on the outside anymore. Ultimate apprehension canceled out every last ounce of willpower Sam still possessed.

Numb and deafening silence enveloped the hunter, the walls around him had attained their impenetrable darkness once again. This time however, created by himself as a shield to hide his shame and guilt. He crawled back into the farthest corner of his mind and curled in on himself, remorse and a bitter feeling of betrayal blanketed his broken mind. This was worse than physical pain, worse than any loss of a beloved person. Sam wished to be left alone, to die.

He allowed his tortured mind to drift into oblivion, indifferent to his surroundings.

He never saw Castiel save his brother in the nick of time. Never witnessed Lucifer's resulting inhuman wrath.

Sam just drifted along.

Dark.

Silent.

Alone.

Cut from the world, spiraling down an endless black hole.

Lucifer rejoiced.

Sam was on the brink of insanity.

Good.

* * *

**End Notes:**

Gehenna (according to wikipedia)

_Gehenna_ (also _gehenom_ or _gehinom_) (Hebrew:**גהינום**) is derived from a geographical site in Jerusalem known as the _Valley of Hinnom_, one of the two principal valleys surrounding the Old City, where in ancient times, the inhabitants of Jerusalem burned their waste.

In literature and religious context: _Gehenna_ is the place of eternal punishment for the damned (i. e. perdition). Accordingly, in the book of _Saint John's Revelation_, "Hades" is associated with death (Revelation 1:18, 6:8), and in the Final Judgment the wicked dead are brought out of Hades and cast into the _Lake of Fire_, which represents the fire of _Gehenna_; Hades (death) itself is also finally thrown into the _Lake of Fire _(Revelation, 20:11-15).

In both Rabbinical Jewish and Christian writing, "Gehenna" is considered to be the destination of the wicked (similar to Christian Hell) and differs from "Sheol" (Hades)


	3. Higher Power

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author:** RoweenaC**  
Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter:** 3/?, Higher Power  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for current season up to 4.18 and possibly beyond depending on how the show's arch develops... hurt and weak Dean in this one  
**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.

**Summary: **Set right after **MY **4.22 (I have my own theories on what we will see in the finale. But leave it to Kripke to prove me wrong...)** "Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts. _It ends now. I'm ending it. _Not happening. Never."**

**A/N I:** Lots of **angst** and graphic **torment** (mental and physical), therefore and for some future swearwords and gory action **rated M.**

**A/M II:** Please note, that this story may contain strong language (hence the rating!!!!) and occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no **time these remarks are meant to offend anyone's personal religious views.**  
**

**A/N III: **Thanks to **my beta CAL **for her patience and beta'ing.

* * *

_**End Of Days**_

_By RoweenaC_

_Chapter 03: Higher Power_

_...Sun of righteousness arise with healing in His wings.... _

_~ Malachi, 4:2 ~_

Bobby was restless. It had been a terrible plan. Again. He still couldn't believe he had agreed to stay behind. How on earth was he supposed to look out for those boys when he was more than a thousand miles away from them? _Damn those idjits_.

Worry snaked an icy hand around his heart and threatened to choke it with arctic fingers.

Three Days. 72 hours. And nothing. Not a single word, no phone call, not even a distraught Winchester calling about the death of their sibling. That was the only good thing. He wasn't sure he could go through that again. Unwanted echoes of emotions ghosted across his soul. Memories pulling and gnawing at his soul demanding to be seen and relived.

Sam, an image of grief, cradling a gory mess of Dean in his arms. The funeral. A reclusive, silent Winchester sitting on the porch day in and day out, brooding. The taillights of the Impala stabbing two tiny red holes in his heart, when Sam had left after weeks of silence and one last, painful brawl about Bobby's stubborn refusal to use _every means possible _to bring Dean back. Bottles of whiskey and beer, littering his house, piling up into walls to hide his own despair and ineptitude to cope with his own failure.

Disgusted, Bobby shrugged and rose from his desk to switch on the old radio. The lyrics wafting from the speakers however, prompted him to shiver in apprehension.

_...Oh I believe there are angels among us, Sent down to us from somewhere up above. They come to you and me in our darkest hours, To show us how to live, to teach us how to give, To guide us with the light of love..._

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose, moved by invisible electricity suddenly crackling in the air. A whooshing, flapping sound behind him and he turned fast on his heals indifferent to the ensuing fit of vertigo.

Castiel stood as if grown out of the floorboards in the middle of his study, clutching a bloody mass clad in jeans and jersey. Dean's head hung awkwardly, over-stretched, dangling over one trench-coated arm, exhibiting the already forming angry bruises below his larynx, an imprint of one large hand. Bobby swallowed hard when his eyes alighted on Dean's belly, his hands trembling, involuntarily betraying his sudden panic. Taking in the dark stains, he was incapable of stopping his heart conjuring up a similar scene, a little over a year ago. It had been nighttime then, too.

The angel's face showed no hint of emotion, apart from his eyes. They were pools of sorrow.

"What the h...? What happened?" The obvious menace in his gruff voice rivaled with the worry he was unable to mask properly. He took two long, urgent strides across the room and held out his arms to accept the dead weight of Dean's limp body.

The angel wordlessly handed Dean over to the hunter, knowing Bobby needed to take care of him, to feel like the surrogate father he had been to the Winchesters over the last years. Bobby struggled when Dean's full weight threatened to pull them both down. Huffing and puffing, he carried the unconscious man to the rickety sofa in the corner, trying to ignore the lack of resistance from Dean. It felt wrong, so wrong to carry the tough and skilled hunter through the room, cradled in his arms like a needy child.

Bobby lowered the limply dangling form gently to the worn-out, dusty cushions and flinched when Dean groaned weakly in response. '_Not dead. There's still time then.'_ Frantically, Bobby reached out two fingers to Dean's bruised throat, searching for the carotid pulse. Shallow, stumbling, fluttering like a nestling's wings. Bobby knelt down next to the sofa and quickly assessed Dean's injuries with his well-practiced eyes.

Turning his head half way around, sinews protesting, his hand slipping down to rest on Dean's shoulder in a subconscious gesture of comfort, Bobby peered at the still eerily silent angel.

"What happened? Where's Sam and why didn't you take Dean to a hospital?" The questions came in a quick succession, stumbling over each other, each begging to be answered first.

Castiel cocked his head, arms hanging loosely at his sides. "I was … too late." The confession seemed to cost him dearly, blue eyes bright with remorse.

"What's that mean? Spill it!" The fact that he was yelling at a member of the Heavenly Host faintly crossed his mind but he pushed it back, concentrating on Castiel's obvious struggle to explain.

"The last seal was broken. Lucifer walks among us once more." Voice devoid of emotions apart from faint regret, Castiel tried to find the right words. He felt responsible. Not just as he usually did when it came to his charges. No. It was different this time. It reached further, deeper, scraped at his belief in serving a just cause. _What you're feeling. It's called doubt._ Anna's voice echoed hollowly in his soul.

Bobby's face clouded over, anger etched in the deep wrinkles.

"Be specific! What the freaking HELL happened to them? I don't care 'bout the whole apocalyptic crap now!" Barely refraining from jumping to his feet at the angel's obvious indifference and cryptic answers, Bobby straightened, well aware of the menace in his motion. Castiel averted his eyes, gazing out of the window at the morning sky, almost as if looking for revelation on how to proceed.

"Sam killed Lilith. The last seal was broken. Lucifer is possessing Sam, now. And he stabbed Dean." Tonelessly, Castiel retold the bitter events of the night, eyes now lowered to the wooden floor, unwilling to allow the hunter in front of him to see how hard he fought to remain in control.

Bobby blanched. Having the mere facts thrown at him like that was almost too much. The possible implications threatened to overwhelm him, to paralyze him. Instinctively, his mind jumped to the more pressing matters and he turned his attention back onto Dean. The unconscious man's breath was ragged, a sickening wetness lacing it. His chest barely rose indicating a growing deprivation of oxygen. The eyes moved feverishly beneath the lids, evidence of Dean's agony. The wound in his side was still oozing, slowly though. The blood was congealing on its journey down Dean's hip and thighs. The need for medical assistance was obvious.

"He needs a hospital. Now." Rising to his feet again, Bobby bent at his hip to gather the too still body in his strong, caring arms.

"There is no time. He won't make it." Castiel stated flatly.

"What? How d' you know?" Disbelief and overall panic gripped Bobby's heart in a crushing fist. His knees buckled beneath him and he forestalled the impending painful connection with the hard floor by kneeling down again. His left hand snaked up tremblingly to rest on Dean's shoulder again. Needing the comfort drawn from the physical contact himself as much as the injured man.

"He lost too much blood and there's considerable internal damage and the blood is filling his lungs, drowning him from the inside."

Eyes fixed on his charge, Castiel marveled at the fact how detached his voice sounded for the first time in his existence. None of the emotions running amok inside him were evident. And he was glad for it. It was hard enough to _feel_. _Showing_ his emotions would make them real, undeniable, pulling his doubts to the surface in their wake. Too close to disobedience. Too close to falling … falling into an abyss.

Castiel searched Bobby's worried, weary gaze and continued,"There is a way. A way to heal him."

Castiel's Grace trembled palpably. Would it work? Could he summon up his faith to do it?

Bobby eyed the angel expectantly.

"So?"

The hunter was barely holding it together. Fear of loss, of being too late again gripped hold of his soul and threatened squash it. His mouth went dry and for the first time in months he considered to drown himself in the calming qualities of a bottle of Bourbon. A soft groan coming from Dean made him turn his head a little too quickly. Hot tendrils of pain coursed up his neck, a singeing whip lashing out at his brain.

He winced and focused on Dean.

Sweat on his pallid forehead and in the stubble growing above his upper lip. A sickly, waxy color had spread over his facial skin, taut and translucent in the morning light, intensifying the contrast to the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Dean's lips had taken on a blueish tinge, screaming oxygen-deprivation, deep cracks and fissures ran through the tender flesh. His breath, labored and still accompanied by the moist, sucking sound was becoming irregular. The formerly slack hands had clenched into fists, burying short-clipped fingernails deeply into palms, threatening to draw blood in small red crescents soon. The sinews in Dean's neck visibly strained against an unseen force. His torso suddenly bucked and arched, an agonized wail escaped his tensed throat.

Bobby fought back the sob building up in his throat, angrily wiped a trembling hand across his treacherously moistening eyes and leaned forward, forming a protective shield of comfort over the struggling young man.

"Dean? Hold on. You hear me, boy? Just a little more."

Bobby reached out with his right and furrowed it through Dean's sopping spikes, following the curve of Dean's left temple to his cheekbone. Terrified, Bobby withdrew his hand. The elder Winchester was burning up. Exasperated, he shot a glance around at the quiet, observant angel.

"So? Are you gonna do anything about it? Or is it all part of the divine plan? He's friggin' dying!"

Unable to withhold his anger any longer, he spat the words into Castiel's face and the angel recoiled slightly. Sorrow showed on his usually inexpressive face and he approached the two hunters warily. Standing next to the sofa, close to Dean's head he resembled a true guardian angel for the first time since Bobby had met him. Strong, powerful and caring , a sentinel looking after his charge. Yet his words spoke differently.

"I can try. But I'm not sure it will work. It needs...," he trailed off contemplating the possible outcome. "True faith." Bobby couldn't bear to hear the uncertainty, the doubt seeping through the words.

"Well, you're an angel. Surely that's in the job description." Impatiently, he peered into Castiel's eyes hoping for a reassuring answer. The angel lowered his gaze to look at Dean again and nodded.

"It is. But it won't be me who decides his fate." Hearing the preemptive excuse in his own words he shuddered inwardly. Putting the blame on God? He cringed almost expecting his Grace to be ripped from him instantly. Castiel staggered and swayed slightly until he finally regained control over his feelings again. He had to concentrate on Dean now. It was almost too late... again.

Bending over Dean, Castiel explained the procedure to Bobby. The older hunter listened intently, coercing himself into making way for the angel, vacating his close proximity to Dean and consequently leaving the younger man exposed to the Heavenly Forces.

Castiel shoved Dean's shirt up baring his pallid, sweaty chest and belly. He ignored Bobby's flinch when the fabric got stuck in the slowly congealing blood oozing from the deep slash cutting through the scar-free skin. He pulled it away and continued preparing himself for the healing. Worry took hold of Castiel's soul when he watched the hitching chest rise and fall irregularly and he refused to push the feeling away this time. This man needed to be taken care of. Needed compassion. Help. It was the right thing to do. There was nothing wrong about his emotions. _Nothing_.

Purposefully, Castiel placed his left hand gently across Dean's heart. The injured hunter shuddered beneath the unfamiliar touch, trying to writhe away from the hand.

"Shsh, s'okay, son. Just relax." Bobby grasped one of Dean's sweaty fists and squeezed it softly, offering reassurance but also drawing strength from the touch himself. He observed the angel closely, alert to any unwanted measures the supernatural being might impose on Dean.

When Castiel's right hand alighted on Dean's sweat-soaked, feverish forehead, the hunter wriggled even more and a moan wafted from his parched lips, echoing dully through the room. Castiel pushed his hands down harder trying to keep the unruly hunter still, but Dean only responded with stronger even more desperate evasive movements.

"Nu-uuuh." A cough cut off the single quasi-utterance Dean had made since his arrival in Castiel's arms. Spasms wracked his already weakened body.

Bobby watched in horror when the contractions became too painful and Dean's jaws clamped together, his face a mask of torture, his mouth contorted, teeth bared in apparently excruciating agony. Willing himself to remain calm, he averted his eyes, looked down at his hand wrapped around the younger man's fist. He swallowed several times against the bile cauterizing its way up in his throat.

"It's not working!" Bobby made to rise from his kneeling position but Castiel shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"No. Do not move. It isn't me. I haven't started yet. His injuries are painful. I need you to hold him down." Castiel spoke through clenched teeth obviously straining to remain in control of the convulsing hunter.

Bobby grabbed Dean's bare arms and nailed them to the sagging cushions enabling Castiel to release his pressure on Dean's chest a little. The sheer strength of the hunter, close to death, surprised Bobby. He had to lean in with his full body weight to stop Dean's arms from squirming away. The injury in his abdomen fortunately seemed to prevent the young man from kicking at his two helpers. Obviously, the muscles had been sliced apart so thoroughly that they only allowed feeble jerks in answer to the unwanted arms holding him in place.

Dean groaned again and Bobby bit his bottom lip hissing out his breath and nodded at the waiting angel.

Castiel closed his eyes. He pulled his awareness away from his surroundings and only concentrated on his hands touching Dean's unnaturally hot skin and the increasing vibrations in his Grace.

It grew inside him, filling him with white, warm, blissful light. Eradicating doubt and fear in Its wake, he yielded to the soothing power. He let it wrap around his soul. Allowed the softly flowing waves to carry his being higher and higher on the wings of everlasting trust and devotion. His whole essence was flying now, speeding upwards into the bright light that was his Father and he lost any sense of the physical world.

The instant his Grace connected with an even Greater Love he felt utterly safe and secure. Nothing could harm him now. The Presence emanated benevolence and enveloped him in a Fatherly embrace. Castiel opened himself to the gentle caress and sensed his essence being taken up in it.

The overwhelming feeling of unconditional love and care filled him up until he almost feared he would burst. Faintly, he wondered why anyone would risk losing this primal force of the Good, how anyone would want to exchange it for anything in the world. Pity for Anna and -to his surprise- for Lucifer's loss gripped his soul. Having witnessed this wonderful experience he knew he would forever grieve its loss. Even more so, if he knew he had no chance to experience it ever again. It would leave a cold, hollow place in his soul. Castiel understood how Lucifer must have felt after his fall. He, who had been closest to God, who had been embraced in His love. Lived in the close Presence of God since the beginning of time. Losing this would be the ultimate torture, the ultimate fall.

Redirecting his thoughts back towards the Presence, his Grace jubilant he drew strength from the Fatherly contact. The Presence changed Its direction now. Instead of simply filling Castiel's essence It moved downwards now, growing and accumulating all the time, taking Castiel with it. At last, the angel was aware of Dean's body beneath his host's fingers again.

The Divine Warmth and Love licked at his fingertips waiting to be released and begin Their healing mission. Castiel opened his host's eyes and wasn't surprised to find both Bobby and Dean watching him with fear as the Glory of the Lord shone from his eyes. Somewhere between his elation and this moment, Dean must have regained consciousness reacting to Castiel's own minimal healing powers. Now, on the brink of being subjected to the Power of the Almighty, Dean's eyes flashed in horror. The younger hunter attempted to retreat, to escape the impending act of wonder.

Castiel smiled. The tension in Dean's body lessened. Obviously the sudden sign of emotion had taken him aback. Castiel felt a bubbling laughter rise in his throat and he contemplated how that was possible. He was filled with his Father's power and still he was able to feel happiness. Weren't emotions supposed to be the first step to disobedience?

Castiel pushed his musings aside for the time being and concentrated on his hands, the means of divine healing. He watched as a blueish-white light sprung in small bolts of lightning from his fingertips, arching along Dean's torso, running up and down the young man's limbs, congregating over his lungs and the gash in his belly. Dean tensed expecting pain but slackened immediately. His face an image of utter surprise, looking searchingly into Castiel's eyes the hunter shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Castiel's smiled widened when he nodded and relished the Power coursing through him knowing it would soon be over. Too soon.

So, he closed his eyes again wishing to be alone with his Father's Presence a little longer and he only re-opened them reluctantly when he sensed a change in the Power. It was building up inside of him as if it had reached to dead end. The sensation became gradually awkward and he could see Dean reacting to the change in the Power as well.

His lips were pressed together responding to the pressure the Power was executing on his still sore belly. Fear shone from his bright green eyes when he locked his gaze onto the angel's bewildered face. Bobby intensified his grip on Dean again when he registered the change in Dean's demeanor. Apprehensively, the older man looked at both Dean and Castiel in turns.

"What the hell's wrong, Cas?" Hardly controlled agony laced the deep, hoarse whisper and Dean pressed his jaws together again as another wave of pressure rolled against his body, crashing against an invisible barrier and subjecting him to a painful stabbing sensation. It seemed as if the Power attempted to find a crack in the wall surrounding Dean's wound to seep through and continue its healing process. The shock and wonder in Castiel's eyes did nothing to ease his feeling of trepidation.

"I... I don't know. It shouldn't... It's not supposed to behave like this." Sounding all too much like a normal human being, stunned and surprised, helpless and not like the supernatural entity he was, Castiel gazed at his hands and suddenly felt a stabbing surge coming from his Grace. His Grace pulled away from him, trying support the Presence in its endeavor to break through the barrier.

"No... Stop, this can't be!" Castiel gasped desperately, bent over and attempted to pull his hands from Dean. However, he found himself irreversibly bound with Dean while both divine Power and his Grace continued their fierce assault. A hounded look stole its way into his eyes and he tried to pull away from Dean again.

The hunter screamed under the pressure against his injured abdomen and the pulling sensation invoked by Castiel's attempts to break the connection. His body arched spine-breakingly. Sweat reappeared on his face and chest, the blueish lightning bolts sizzled in the liquid and a faint mist rose from Dean's body shrouding all three men in a salty cloud.

Bobby pushed Dean down, back on the sofa, scared out of his wits by the unexpected turn of events and looked around feverishly for a way to break Castiel and the eldest Winchester apart. His eyes alighted on a flask lying on his desk. Holy water. He frowned and shrugged.

"It's worth a try..." he mumbled and reluctantly withdrew his hands from Dean's arms to dash over to the table and snatch up the silvery bottle, nearly losing his grip due to the sweat soaking his palms. In the blink of an eye, far quicker than he himself had thought possible, he reappeared at Dean's side and poured the whole content of the bottle over the hunter's twitching and jerking chest.

The already present mist intensified as the water pooled above Dean's abdominal injury. Bubbling and sizzling, a thick cloud rose from the gash, accompanied by excruciating screams from Dean and Castiel. An enormous arch of cold, blue electricity built up, bridging from the angel's hands to the bottle Bobby still clutched in his hands. The flask was blown out of his hands and crashed into the opposite corner of the room, bringing the stack of ancient, dusty tomes piled up there to a fall into a chaotic mess of paper, parchment and leather. In the same instant, Castiel was thrown backwards against the wall, his head and back connecting hard with the wood and he slid down to the ground limply, eyes closed, head lolling to one side.

Dean writhed and squirmed while the holy water burned away the soiled remnants of whatever had taken up residence in the wound. The young hunter groaned and yelled wordlessly, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to control his agony. All of a sudden, he pried his eyes open and frantically searched Bobby's gaze. The older man reacted instinctively rushing to Dean's side, gripping one of the tormented man's fist to offer comfort. His free hand flew to Dean's forehead gently pushing the younger man back down into the cushions. The elder Winchester gulped and panted, eyes glued to Bobby's face, mortal fear etched into his taut features. One more spasm coursed through his body, bringing his chest almost to Bobby's eye level and then Dean sagged back down.

Bobby trembled, taking in Dean's unconscious form, unnaturally still and somehow very small and vulnerable.

_~TBC~_

**

* * *

End Notes: **

The lyrics are taken from the song _Angels Among Us_, written and performed by _Alabama_.

Perfect song for this chapter and the following one – at least from my point of view- and inspiration for the title: _Higher Power_ by _Boston_

_~Thanks for reading, reviews are like chocolate... See ya next week! RC~  
_


	4. Lower Power

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter:** 4/?, Lower Power  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for current season up to 4.18 and possibly beyond depending on how the show's arch develops...

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.  
**Summary: **Set right after **MY** 4.22(I have my own theories on what we will see in the finale. But leave it to Kripke to prove me wrong...)** "Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts. **_**It ends now. I'm ending it. **_**Not happening. Never."**

**A/N I: **Lots of angst and graphic torment (mental and physical), therefore and for some future swearwords and gory action rated M. The f-bomb is dropped in this chapter more than once!

**A/N II:** Please note, that this story may contain strong language (hence the rating!!!!) and occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no** time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious views.**  
**Especially this chapter might be hard to stomach... there are some dismissive comments about faith and God in it. The opinions put in here don't reflect my own beliefs. In fact I consider myself a religious person. So, I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.

**A/N III: **Thanks to my beta Cal for her patience and beta'ing. And for the help getting started on this particular chapter... *hugs ya*

* * *

_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

_Chapter 04: Lower Power_

… _And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from Evil... _

_~Matthew 6:13~_

_...Take me home to your religion for the night  
Let me touch you  
Teach me how to see your vision through my eyes  
Turn the pages  
Tell my story, let me face another day  
Safe embraces, ..._

_'Oh, Dean. Not _Boston_ again. Can't you for once lay off the classic rock? I'm tryin' to sleep here... My head hurts like hell...' _

Waiting for a snarky comeback about house rules and hangovers, Sam squinted in the morning light around him. The first thing, however, he laid eyes on was the steering wheel. In his own hands.

His heart (_not his, not really_) skipped several beats. _'Dean!'_

"Oh, he ain't here, Sammy! 'S just you and me now, boy. You and your own little Devil ridin' shotgun." Lucifer chuckled to himself. "Well, y'know what I mean."

Sam jerked back, restraints protesting painfully, cutting deep into his imagined wrists and throat, surprised at his own voice mocking him. It felt surreal. But he didn't dwell on it too long._ Dean_. He needed to know about Dean. Needed to know if he was...

_'Oh god... please, no.'_

"What? Praying? Surely, you don't think he is still alive, do you? Oh, I wish you could've seen the end of it. It was a very _uplifting_ experience." Again, the demonic laughter caused by a joke, Sam didn't catch, filled the odd emptiness of the car and his distraught heart.

_'Shut up, he's not dead. He can't be. He'd never...' _die... But he had. He had died. And left Sam alone, unprotected.

Lucifer adopted his mock-fatherly tone again, "Well, of course he can die, Samuel. He is a human being. Not like us. Well, maybe a little more like you than me, but you get the gist. Didn't you see all that blood? Hear him breathe? Even your hero brother couldn't survive that."

_'Liar. You're the Devil. Prince of Lies. I don't believe you.'_ It sounded less defiant and convinced than he had aimed for. Sam heard the uncertainty and, to his own embarrassment, the childish plea in the words. He wanted to believe his own words. So bad. But it was hard.

The blood. All that blood.

And Dean's eyes. How they had searched for some sign of Sam, willing him to surface and failing bitterly, the loneliness and resignation had almost hurt the younger brother physically. The prisoner's mind went numb with grief again.

_No, not this time. That'd be the easy way out. No more._

Lucifer gladly picked up on Sam's desperation, relishing it, feasting on it like a vampire on an infant's blood, his satisfaction almost tangible.

"You worry too much, Sammy. No point worrying now. 'S all said and done. Too late for remorse. And honestly," he paused for a second, slipping a new tape into the cassette deck and Zeppelin's _Ramble On_ blared out of the speakers. Sam cringed, Dean's good-natured, soft baritone echoing through his memories.

"It's annoying to hear you whining about Dean and your past mistakes. You can't help him anymore. Moment's gone. _He_'s gone. So, get a grip!"

The Impala sped up as it finally swung in onto the interstate 5, heading west, away from the Pacific, leaving his brother's broken form behind. Dead. The soft growl of the engine did nothing to ease Sam's mind. Usually, it would have lulled him to sleep instantly conditioned by the only lullaby he had ever heard. Apart from Dean's young voice singing _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_ in a high pitch. He flinched. Too many memories. He'd been there. Had had an excruciatingly long, hot, lonely summer wallowing in them. He couldn't do it again. It would kill him this time. Not even Ruby could help him now.

Lucifer droned on regardless in Sam's voice, sounding jovially and at peace with himself. Even elated.

"You're a hunter after all. And part demon. You should be proud of that! Live up to your reputation, Samuel. You gotta learn to live with it." His voice trailed off, thinking. "Wasn't there something your brother said in moments like this? Suck it up, Winchester? Yeah, I think that's the one. I like that."

_'Shut the fuck up.' _Sam howled hearing Lucifer quote his brother's words hurt more than everything else. He pushed forward, trying to regain control of his body if only for an instant. His consciousness connected jarringly with an invisible barricade, causing echoes that reverberated hollowly in his mind, bouncing off the transparent barriers incarcerating him, interfering with each other and increasing in strength all the time. It was a painful experience, as if he had run full on into a brick wall.

"Oh, mind your tongue with me, son. And I wouldn't recommend trying that again. It could cost you some of those gray cells you're so proud of." Lucifer looked into the rear-view mirror and Sam saw murder and menace in his own hazel eyes staring back him. "I was thinking, by the way. What do you say we go and find us a hunter. I could do with some more exercise. I liked working on your brother. It was inspiring."

Sam tried to remain silent knowing Lucifer would only enjoy any comeback. But it hurt. So much. He buried invisible fingernails into invisible palms and concentrated on the song coming from the speakers, the underlying beat, let it become his heartbeat in replacement for the heart Lucifer had stolen from him.

"What do you think, Sammy? Are all hunters such rewarding prey?" Not really expecting Sam to answer, Lucifer seemed intend on hurting his host. Like small biting pinpricks, his sentences tucked tiny, agonizing holes into Sam's heart.

"I really like the car, Sammy. Very classy and powerful. And as for the music, nothing like classic rock, huh? I have to admit one thing about your brother, Dean really had style."

Lucifer snickered throatily and cranked up the volume to a deafening crescendo. Sam remained unresponsive. Unwilling to bare his wounded soul even further to Lucifer, the hunter refrained from arguing and instead he chose to contemplate the facts and his options.

_Dean. Dean is... no. He can't be. Not again._ Chills crept up and down his imagined arms, he even had the illusion of tiny hairs standing on end. Dean couldn't be dead. Sam would know if he were, would feel … something. There should be a hole in his heart. An icicle piercing through it. An emptiness that spread chillingly through his very existence. Numbing him and at the same time burning him alive. No, Dean couldn't be dead. Not after all he had done to get him back. Not after he came back.

But then pure, stabbing reason caught up with Sam's feelings. If he hadn't been dead when they left the beach, Dean would be by now for sure. The graphic details of his belly wound, the agony and defeat showing in his eyes near the end of the terrible night on the beach celebrated an unwanted rerun in the younger Winchester's head. Tormenting questions floated to the surface of his troubled mind. Guilt gnawed at his soul with sharp, mauling teeth. What if Dean had been _alive_ when Lucifer had walked Sam's body to the car? What if he, Sam, could have done something about it? What if he had given in too soon? He should have fought harder to get control.

Sam's mind, agonizingly sharp and indifferent as to what the results of its reasoning were, dissected the facts and summed them up with unemotional clarity. Lucifer was right. Either way, it was too late, now. The revelation caught his breath away and his heart shattered into a million pieces when he let the meaning sink in. Dean was gone. It was the only possible outcome.

_~Still, stranger things have happened. Try coming back from hell after four months without looking like zombie . And then you find out angels are real and there is a God who has a job for you!'_~

Sam jolted a little when Dean's voice filled his head, snarky and as usual hitting the mark, spot on. The smell of gun powder and motor oil wafted around his confined space. Dean's scent. The younger Winchester forcefully controlled the hysterical laughter bubbling inside him. There _was_ still hope and he would make sure Lucifer wouldn't find out about the sudden spark of hope filling Sam's darkness. However, he didn't know how to accomplish that task or how Dean could have survived on the beach.

_Maybe Castiel?_

_Or Bobby..._

_~Clutching at a straw, Sammy? How could the old man've been there in the nick of time? Car like his?~_ Dean commented in his mind. But yeah, that was exactly what he was doing. Have faith and believe even when things aren't looking good.

_~Understatement!~ _Dean replied and Sam drew strength form his brother's sarcastic presence. It soothed the longing, flattened the turbulence in his mind. He actually found himself grinning when he set out to plan his strategy.

_Step one. Contact Bobby. _Find out if Dean was with him. Maybe the angel _had_ swooped in just in time. Sam wanted to believe so badly and for the first time in more than a year he felt the urge to pray.

The hunter shuddered, remembering a similar situation one year ago. He had scoffed at Dean for going on blind faith then. Sam had to admit there were situations when there was nothing but faith. Like now.

Returning to his strategy he found one obstacle to overcome first. To contact Bobby Sam somehow needed to regain control of his own body. Then, he might even make it back to Singer's junkyard given he remained in charge long enough.

_Or to Ruby._ He needed some of her blood. A shiver crinkled his existence when he realized a deep seated hunger growling inside him. His storage of energy had been nearly depleted after Lilith's death. And he could almost taste the salty, delicious texture of her blood on his tongue. Savor its rejuvenating effect. Another tremor coursed through him and he felt ashamed by the obvious symptoms of withdrawal. Dean had been right two weeks back. He was a junkie jonesing for demon blood. But how should he have killed Lilith if Ruby hadn't helped them out. Of course now, he wished he could go back and change it. Rather die fighting her than living like this.

Disgusted with himself, he tried to steer his musings to another topic. Yet, once noted, the desire swallowed him whole. Lucifer had been able to possess his body when Sam had been weakened, had not had enough demon blood to hold him off. If he could boost up now he might be able to exorcize Lucifer from the inside or at least force him out. All it took was one more time, he argued with himself. Just enough to expel Lucifer.

Sam closed his mind's eyes and focused. There was still some residue coursing through him. He didn't even wonder why that was possible, never wondering how he could feel it even if he had no blood anymore.

Unperturbed, he imagined summoning up his powers and morphed them into an additional wall, this time of his own making. Layer above layer, stone on stone, it grew into a shield, cutting the outside world off, enveloping him and protecting him. Carefully guarding his thoughts, Sam set out to plan.

Hoping against hope that Lucifer wouldn't hear him.

****

Silently, Bobby stood sentinel over the two unconscious men. One on the floor and one on the sofa. The hard floorboards were covered with a camping mat to lessen the uncomfortable rest, a sheet draped over God's fearsome warrior. Castiel, however, eerily resembled an average human in his unconscious state. A reminder of the host whose body he was possessing to communicate with his charge.

Shaking his head in confusion, Bobby's gaze wandered over to come to rest on Dean's pale face. The dark smudges still showed beneath his eyes and the cheeks seemed hollowed out, the skin too taut. But none of the horrible agony marred his features. Only his eyes betrayed some agitation as they rolled in their sockets, playing back the scenes of his mind's movie. One hand fisted into the blanket snugged around him, the other lying flat on his chest as if he needed to check his own heart-beat to make sure he was still alive.

Bobby's heart skipped a beat imagining how close he had come to losing Dean again. He trembled. Making a mental effort to force the image back into the dark places of his mind, Bobby turned to walk over to the kitchen. The morning sun filtered through the shades, painting horizontal black prison bars on the floor.

Bobby realized it was already 10 am and he hadn't had a coffee yet. Add the lack of sleep to that he was seriously surprised he was still standing. Grabbing a mug from the sink, he checked it was at least barely clean and reached for the copper kettle on the counter to set it on the stove. Keeping his mind on the everyday routine, the weary hunter felt his body shutting down cell by cell. Screaming for rest, his leg muscles twitched and twanged, causing him to stretch his legs. That in turn forced him to reach for his lower back and massage the suddenly protesting knot there.

"'Gettin' too old for this crap...", Bobby mumbled searching for the jar with the instant energy. _Coffee. A whole lotta coffee._ Finally, his eyes found what they were looking for and he scuffled over to the other end of the counter near the fridge, leaden feet dragging forward just because he willed them on. The jar in his hands, Bobby turned around and felt a slight wave of dizziness hitting his head. Grabbing the counter with his free hand for support, Singer waited until he sensed the world had settled down again.

Hardly mastering a yawn, he shuffled back toward the stove where the kettle had finally started billowing steam. The short distance grew into a marathon but in the end Bobby stood in front of the stove. He counted four spoons of the powder into the mug and threw in another just for good measure. Strong. Hot. Life.

The hot water gushed into the mug, foaming the instant coffee, creating a false promise of delicious taste, soon to be broken by the stale, artificial bitterness assaulting the roof of his mouth. Burning, boiling and acrid, Bobby swallowed the black, hot brew and prayed for an immediate response in his weary body. Taking another gulp, he crossed the short distance between stove and table, set his mug down and dropped onto the wooden chair. Elbows supported on the table board, Bobby Singer let his face sink into his palms, allowing himself a moment of rest. Just one moment. Slipping into a warm and comfortable drowsy state the hunter failed to notice how his arms folded beneath his head and dozing morphed into deep, dreamless sleep.

****

"No, I'm fine. Really." Dean scowled at the angel advancing on him. "Seriously, Cas. I'd rather keep my distance for a while. Thanks."

"It was not supposed to happen like that, Dean. Something is amiss here. And I need to examine the wound." Beneath his familiarly unemotional demeanor, Dean heard confused worry in the angel's voice.

"I said no. I'm not your freakin' guinea pig, dammit! I'm okay." Anger began to boil inside him and lent his voice a sharp edge. They had been arguing about the ritual and its effects on both of them for over thirty minutes now. He was getting sick of it.

Dean rolled up his blood soaked shirt to expose his lower abdomen. A purplish scar, faint but visible, leered up at the angel's peering eyes and gave evidence to the truth of Dean's previous testimony. Castiel quirked an eyebrow in a subconscious and surprisingly accurate imitation of his charge's characteristic facial expression. Curiosity filled his features and he lifted his gaze to meet Dean's haunted eyes again, when the hunter went on.

"See? No blood, no pain. Peachy. Even if it wasn't supposed to go down like that, it worked. Now can we please have a coffee and start searching for a way to get Sam back?" Dean attempted to change the topic, hoping the angel would catch on and hold his peace. At least for now.

"Dean, this is highly unusual. I am not sure you understand what happened here," explaining in a mild and patronizing tone as if talking to a small child, Castiel made another step toward Dean whereupon the hunter held out a hand, palm up in a stopping gesture.

"Dude! Personal space!" Dean realized with disgust that his heart-beat had sped up, responding to the adrenalin flooding his system as the angel drew closer. The hunter moved backward involuntarily and his pride howled in agony. Freaked out by an angel. Again.

His back against the cool, wooden door frame leading to the kitchen, Dean flinched when a faint throbbing sensation clawed up his side, along his nerve tracks, melted into his spinal cord and wormed its way up to his brain. It wasn't agony. Far from it. Yet, it was unnerving. Like a tooth that would need a new filling soon or risk root canal therapy. Not pain, just a nuisance, but enough to alarm him. It felt wrong, alien, as if the sensation was an entity of its own. He looked down at his still bare belly and almost expected to see the scar tissue twitch and convulse, showing tendrils moving under his skin. The whole talking about supernatural intervention during the ritual had clearly messed with his mind. Watching the plain, slightly sore spot on his belly he felt hysterical laughter building up just beneath the calm, rather defiant surface.

It was Castiel's turn to scowl and the Winchester nearly lost control, a smirk must have shown on his face without his knowing, judging by the slightly offended tone of the angel.

"This is serious, Dean. You should know that you have been healed by the power of the Almighty. And it should have been done very quickly and painlessly. Something is definitely amiss here. And I need to find..."

"You?" Dean's humor evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. "_You_ need to find out? Sorry pal, not happening. You're _so_ not feeling me up, Cas. Not after last night. I mean, I really dig that you saved me. And that … God... " he swallowed around the word, "healed me. Really. I appreciate that. But you are NOT touching me again. Damn, Castiel. It was a full-on lightning bolt. Inside the house. And... and then," amazed by his sudden need to explain, Dean gasped breathlessly, before he continued, still stunned by his urge to share.

"Then there was this pain. Worse than anything, even worse than... down under. I swear it felt like it was gonna tear me apart alive." The words tumbled from Dean's mouth in a quick succession and Castiel observed him curiously, head slightly cocked to one side.

"I understand your fear Dean." The hunter winced, obviously repulsed by the insulting allusion to him being afraid.

Castiel, however, seemed to take no notice of Dean's discomfort and went on. "But you have to know that it was not me who produced the agony. I am very sorry. As I said, it was not supposed to be like that. But as it was, we have to find out what or who interfered with my Father's power. And we need to substantiate if your wound is truly healed. I saw you flinch. You are in pain, which is even more disturbing."

Castiel didn't approach Dean any further but his pleading, urging tone had a similar effect as if he had jumped the five feet between them toward Dean. The hunter recoiled instinctively and his head connected skull-breakingly with the door frame he was leaning against.

"Awh, crap." Stars exploded in front of Dean's eyes. His right hand flew to his head as if afraid it would fall off without support, he bent forward, left hand propped up on his thigh and he swayed on the spot for a few seconds. Massaging the back of his head with the knuckles of his right hand, he turned away from the angel and that somehow broke the spell. The tension holding Dean's whole body captive resolved as he laid eyes on Bobby fast asleep at the table, cold coffee almost untouched.

Dean blinked to see past the supernovas continuously blowing up behind his eyes and walked over to the stove, desperate for coffee and to put some space between himself and the silently observing angel.

The sudden silence after the brawl seemed to have roused the sleeping hunter from his almost comatose sleep. Sleepily he kneaded his eyes with the heels of both hands, stretched, winced when his neck protested and peered around at both Dean and Castiel in turns. Bobby half rose from the chair and then dropped back onto it, incomprehension etched in his face and emanating from him in waves that engulfed the other two men.

While he carefully avoided looking at either Castiel or Bobby, Dean busied himself with filling the kettle with fresh water from the tap and set it down on the stove. Let the angel do the talking. He would keep his silence for now. The raw images from the scenes earlier that day swirled around him in a nauseating maelstrom threatening to pull him under and drown him.

Uncounted bodies on a peaceful, picturesque beach, some his friends and combatants, some enemies, some innocent bystanders. Old, young, women, men. Death washed out differences. Death was a democrat.

Sam with unfamiliarly unforgiving, cold eyes when he stabbed him, choked him, taunted him. Sam howling in victory, insanity and disgusting addiction palpable. Dean realized with a pang that even before Lucifer had taken refuge in Sam's meat-suit, his brother had vanished. Slowly, fading away, slipping through his fingers.

The look of utter surprise in Castiel's face when the ritual had somehow gotten out of hand and the ghost of sheer terror flitting through his eyes when the lightning bolt had thrown him like a rag doll across the room. Terror had seized his whole existence.

Bobby's fearful, sad and helpless gaze. The love shining from them had touched Dean deeply. It was a look he remembered. He had seen it a few very special times in his life before. His Mom had looked at him like that every day of their short time together. It had been in Dad's eyes at the cemetery and back in the hospital shortly before John had exchanged his life for that of his eldest son. Sam's eyes had brimmed with tears and love in Pontiac, Illinois, after … after... He broke off when the unbidden memory intended to steal its way to the front of his mind.

Rare but, yeah, he remembered each and every one of those moments. In fact he treasured them, had stored them safely away in his memory to call upon them when he lacked reassurance. They had been his anchor, his safe haven in Hell until they had finally been worn-out and almost threadbare.

Dean shuddered. The curling sensation under his skin had intensified and a slight pressure in his temples had joined his general feeling of unease. Something was off, that much he had to admit to himself.

"Anyone of you gonna explain what the hell's goin' on? You were both unconscious just, " Bobby's sleep-slurred voice halted while he checked his watch. 12.30 pm. _Crap, only two and a half hours._ He needed sleep. Long and restful sleep. "Just a little over two hours ago."

Castiel held the older hunter's stare and nodded almost imperceptibly. "True. We woke half an hour ago. I am sorry if we interrupted your well deserved sleep." He inclined his head a little in a gesture combining apology and acknowledgement.

"Since then, Dean and I have been discussing the possible intervention of another force during this morning's ritual. The Divine Energy, what you would call the Holy Spirit, was repelled. An extremely curious incident. No similar case has been recorded among the Heavenly Host since the beginning of time..."

Castiel had moved his gaze to rest upon Dean's scapulae during his explanation. The hunter stood, tension evident in his drawn up, slightly hunched shoulders as if ready to engage either men behind him, his back towards the room praying for a way to postpone this discussion to another time. Another life.

He was exhausted and the thought of Sam still being alive inside his own body, yet sentenced to suffer Lucifer pulling the strings, nearly killed him. Even though he had no reason to believe his own assumption to be right, he still felt sure he would somehow know if Sam was dead. He pursed his lips and remained in his position, his eyes wandered unseeing to the window.

"Dean?" The older man's voice sought confirmation for the angel's account and Dean shrugged impatiently.

"What?" It came out harsher, louder than he had intended and he regretted it immediately. Turning around to face Bobby and Castiel again, he smirked, the smile not reaching his eyes. A ghost of happiness, brushing over facial pallor and a fine sheen of sweat bathing his skin in the morning sun's reflection.

_'He looks so young. And old. Older than me,'_ Bobby thought.

"Don't ya yell at _me_, boy! Wasn't _me_ that landed us in this crap!" Bobby's tone was gruff yet Dean picked up on the worry bubbling beneath the surface, and his shoulders drooped visibly.

"Sorry, I'm just...," struggling for words to express what had put him on edge he looked away from Bobby and at the angel, speaking to Castiel mostly.

"I'm sick of all of this. I need to go get S...," he stumbled over his brother's name but caught himself right away. This was not the time to get all emotional. Plans had to be made. He needed action, was practically buzzing with adrenaline now that he had finally started to talk. "Sam back. I don't wanna discuss the end of the world or useless prophecies anymore, while he is out there possessed by the freakin' Devil himself. And I'm gonna get him back, with or without your help. I don't care if there's something wonky about the ritual. It worked, Cas. I'm here, you're here. That's all I need to know."

He masked the sudden stabbing throb in his temples, just in time, by turning back to the stove. '_Coffee. Dammit, I need coffee, now!' _He snatched a mug, grabbed the instant coffee, frowning in aversion, and went for the kettle when Castiel decided to answer his tirade. His arm froze mid-action once the meaning of the angel's words sank in.

"You don't understand, Dean." Castiel's voice curiously managed to be soothing and urgent at the same time. "It _is_ important to find out what went wrong this morning. My Father's power is not easily thwarted."

Dean tried to push the increasing discomfort at the angel's evocative explanation away but to no avail. The seed of doubt and worry had been planted. He busied himself with pouring water over instant energy to control the whirlwind of questions in his mind, suddenly vying to be answered. He chanced a long gulp from his mug, took a deep breath and finally turned around again.

"So, you're saying that Lucifer's got something to do with what happened during the ritual? That he somehow interfered? How?" Pushing his chin forward to strengthen the disbelieving challenge thrown at the angel, free arm risen to shoulder height, palm up, he made a step into Castiel's direction._ 'I'm so sick of all this apocalyptic crap. I need to get Sam back. Don't they understand that's the most important thing at the moment?' _

Bobby observed both men, standing on opposite sides of the small kitchen, facing each other, sizing each other up. Western style. The room seemed to grow around them, morphing into a spacious hall, with the two contestants at each end, waiting for the right time to draw their colts. Only the odd tumbleweed cartwheeling through the scene was missing.

Leaning against the back of the chair he folded his arms in front of his chest. The older hunter was gravely worried about Dean. He had seen the supernatural interference during the ritual. Had sensed its power and remembered the terror in both mens' eyes. He needed Castiel to explain and make sure Dean was unharmed. Should the elder Winchester try to rebuff the angel's help, he, Bobby Singer, would personally see to it that the boy got a well measured kick in the ass for being a reckless _idjit_. And if he had to knock the younger hunter out and tie him down, Castiel would get the chance to examine Dean.

Both young men stared at each other, defiance battling understanding and urgency. The angel took the prize, when Dean finally lowered his gaze and nodded.

"Okay. You got ten minutes. But then I'll go after Lucifer. With or without _divine assistance_." His last words oozed bitter disappointment and cutting irony. Castiel flinched slightly but held his silence. Instead he walked over to the sofa, still covered with the crumpled, blood-stained blanket, and motioned to Dean to sit down.

Dean froze and shot a sideways glance at Bobby. '_Awkward.' _

Bobby's eyebrows met above his nose and rose in unison, implying that Dean had better follow through or _he_ would take measures in his own hands. Realizing his defeat, the elder Winchester finally complied.

Cussing under his breath something that sounded vaguely like _son of a bitch_, Dean scuffled over to the study, Bobby rose from his chair to follow him and at the same time block the younger man's only exit.

Dean dropped down on the worn out cushions, ignoring the slight vertigo the movement caused, and leaned back, lifted his T-shirt and winced at the raw scar tissue. The stark, crude contrast between his skin and the scar seemed to have intensified a little, purple now almost changing into a dark burgundy. Before he could stop himself, a bewildered "Huh?" slipped through his lips.

"It has changed." Stating the obvious in such a Sam-like manner that Dean had to look up to see if the angel had grown long unruly hair. Castiel crouched down in front of him, intrigued, and peered at Dean's bare abdomen. He extended his hand and the hunter had to force himself to refrain from drawing back from the unwanted touch. Dean grimaced silently and suffered the humiliation of being prodded and poked around the still very sensitive, mangled flesh.

A sudden flare of heat coursed through him, beginning at the base of his skull, rushing down his spinal cord, taking the short cut along his ribcage and ending in a electric discharge of a bright blue, crackling yet small bolt of lightning between Dean's scar and Castiel's fingertips.

Surprised, the angel yanked his hand back from Dean's torso and the hunter relaxed a little. Even though the pain in his temples had numbed to a dull throb again, he now felt dizzy and exhausted. He eyed Castiel expectantly, wanting him to shrug the issue off as weird so they could finally go after his brother. Dean 's insides churned just thinking of Sam's presumable distress. He had no time, neither of them had.

"That is unusual." Voice flat and devoid of human surprise, the angel peered into Dean's weary, pale eyes.

"Yeah. You said that before. Any unexpected _revelation_?" He stressed the last word and put all his snark in it, growing more impatient by the second. Dean sensed a blaze of all consuming, worried anger building up inside him, ready to absorb the angel, to scorch and devour him, him and his _fucking_ mysterious remarks.

"So?" Bobby, feeling Dean's temper reaching boiling point, intervened before the elder Winchester could add anything he would probably regret in the end.

"I need to speak with my superiors but this is very disturbing. Dean, do you experience any pain or discomfort?"

"You mean other than at you, being evasive as usual?" Dean growled out between clenched teeth. "Spill it! I can see you've got an idea of what's goin' on.

"I don't want to cast aspersions..."

"_Cast aspersions_? On Lucifer? For crying out loud, that guy's rep's even worse than Chris Brown's..." Dean cut across Castiel's hesitant words and bent forward, elbows resting on his knees. "C'mon. You gotta have something."

"It might be that there is some residue in the wound." Tonelessly, Castiel stated his assumption, eyes never leaving the hunter's face.

"Residue? Like … like what?" perplexed and slightly disgusted by the idea of some nasty satanic residue coursing through his system, Dean looked from Castiel to his belly and back up again.

Bobby was faster to catch on than Dean. "Makes sense."

"It does? Care to explain?" Dean's sarcasm reached unchartered regions.

"Lucifer left some part of himself in you, Dean. That's why Cas or God or whoever couldn't heal you completely." The younger hunter simply blinked uncomprehendingly.

Bobby elaborated, "see, Lucifer used to be an angel. He's got the same powers Cas has. Maybe even more," chancing a quick glance at the angel standing in silence between them he halted. Castiel nodded allowing Bobby to explain.

"So, he's got this Grace of his, only it's stronger than Castiel's. He was the first among the Heavenly Host. They called him the Prince of Angels. And his power was only exceeded by God. When he fell he must've taken his Grace with him. And over millennia of existing in the absence of God his Grace must've turned. Changed into uh, well, let's call it Disgrace. And he grew stronger all the time, gathered demons around him. I don't think he can beat God. But he's strong enough to complicate this ritual." Breathless and sweating slightly, Bobby broke off. He was intrigued almost against his will by the discovery.

Dean watched open-mouthed as Bobby and Castiel exchanged looks of understanding.

"So... so this Disgrace, it latched onto me? How? When?" Revulsion burned inside him like bile and he was incapable of keeping it out of his voice.

Castiel replied this time. "Did Sam touch you? Get into contact with your blood? It would need a prolonged contact to cause it. Maybe Lucifer did not even register it himself."

Dean frowned, thinking back to the torturous face-off with his brother_ (Lucifer!)_ only a few hours before. God, it felt like a lifetime. And then it came to him.

"He, uh... he put his fingers into my wound. Hurt like a bitch." Embarrassment made him cringe and repulsed by the mere concept of being soiled by Lucifer, he wished for this conversation to be over. Rather sooner than later. His insides felt raw and sore, the need to find and save Sam was even more overwhelming than before. He couldn't leave Sam in the Devil's clutches. Even if there was only minimal reason to believe his sibling was still alive, he had to try.

"That could do it. I will have to inform Zachariah now. Dean, promise me you will wait for my return before you go after Lucifer. We have to find out the possible consequences first and we need a way to purify you. Please, wait," Castiel beseeched the restless hunter and waited for the affirmation.

"Uh. Okay. But I don't wanna waste too much time. Lucifer'll be hard to find by now anyway. He's got...," Dean jumped up in sudden shock, ignoring the dizziness hitting him full force.

"Oh, holy crap. He's got the Impala!"

_~TBC~_

* * *

**End notes: **

**A) **Thanks for reading! See you on the next one!

**B) **The lyrics used in the beginning of this chapter are taken from the song _Higher Power _by _Boston. _The Bible quotation, as in the other chapters, is taken from the _King James _version of the _Bible. _


	5. So I Dub Thee Unforgiven

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Castiel  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter:** 5/?, So I Dub Thee Unforgiven  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for current season (up to 4.21)

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.  
**Summary: **Set right after **MY** 4.22(I have my own theories on what we will see in the finale. But leave it to Kripke to prove me wrong...)

_"Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts. It ends now. I'm ending it. Not happening. Never."_

_What happens after the last seal breaks? How do the boys cope when they are painfully separated? Will the Winchesters reunite and stop Lucifer from ruling the earth? _

Hurt Dean, tormented Sam

**A/N I: **Lots of **angst **and **graphic torment** (mental and physical), therefore and for some future swearwords and gory action **rated M.**

**A/N II:** Please note, that this story may contain occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no** time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious , I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.

**A/N III: **Thanks to my beta Cal for her patience and beta'ing. *hugs ya* Less than 3 weeks now!

* * *

_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

_Chapter 05: So I Dub Thee __Unforgiven_

_...for my strength is made perfect in weakness... _

_~ Corinthians, 12:9 ~_

**Singer's Auto Salvage, South Dakota**

Dean stared at the wall, eyes weary and bloodshot. The crack ran from the floor all the way to the ceiling, split in three places, hair thin crevices trying to bring the wall down with their constant unnoticeable growth, thinning out the closer they came to the upper right corner. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and was surprised to find sweat there. Sure, it was a warm day, but inside the air was still cool. Huffing out his annoyance with himself and the situation, he closed his eyes. Waiting had always been the worst torture for him... at least until he had learned what torture really meant.

"You done staring at the stupid wall, Dean? 'Cause I ain't reading all the books on my own, y'know!"

The concern in Bobby's voice wasn't lost on him and without turning around Dean lowered his eyes back to the dusty, moldy tome resting on his thighs and sighed tonelessly. The words swam before his eyes, blurring into unreadable black spots. They had been reading for the better part of the afternoon and he just couldn't concentrate any longer. He felt like they were wasting precious time with useless research. His own condition didn't really matter to him, he was okay. For now.

"I'm sick of this, Bobby. We should be lookin' for Sa... Lucifer. He could be half way to Mexico by now."

"I'm not so sure that's his plan, Dean. And we need to find out what's wrong with you first. That Disgrace business is buggin' the hell out of me."

"I'm good. And the sooner we go after Lucifer the better."

"Well, say you find him, what's the plan then? How'll we get rid of him? 'specially without messing up that little brother of yours... Or we'll end up losing him. If he isn't already gone." His voiced trailed off, echoing in the silence. He could tell Dean was frantic. Panic radiated from him like a fever but Bobby knew they had to prepare themselves for the attack. They were up against the Devil, for crying out loud. So he had to be as blunt as possible to call Dean back to his senses. It had hurt to say it. Still did.

Watching Dean digest his words, Bobby could see the younger man swallowing hard undoubtedly fighting back harsh words or even tears. Singer's heart threatened to break at the sight, yet he held his silence and returned to his analysis of the Aramaic edition of the Book of Revelation, giving Dean time to compose himself.

"I … I. Um. I dunno. Hell, I don't know anything anymore!" Hoarse and raw, his voice carried his despair better than any word Dean had said, causing Bobby to flinch but he hid his face focusing on the Bible. The restless Winchester literally jumped to his feet, wincing a little when the movement tore at tender scar tissue.

Indignantly, Dean tossed the book down onto the couch, causing a dust cloud to puff up and whirl around him, creeping into his nostrils. He sneezed. Annoyance reaching an all time high, he stomped over to the kitchen, reached for a kitchen tissue and blew his nose. Grabbing an empty mug, he poured himself some coffee and turned to lean against the counter, fingers of his free hand tapping his impatience onto the wooden surface in a quick staccato, attempting to prompt a reaction from the other man. He needed an outlet or he feared he would break down. Needed to rage.

Dean observed Bobby's form, hunched over the ancient book, scribbling something unreadable onto a scrap of paper right beside him. The older hunter seemed completely immersed in his work, never looking up, eyes glued to the alien letters and words.

"And where the hell is that freaking angel!?" Dean tried again to get Singer's attention and this time he was successful. Bobby's eyes flicked across the younger man's figure, taking in the tension in every muscle and sinew, the way his shoulders were hunched a little as if getting ready to fight, and came to rest on his face. He still seemed too pale and a fine sheen of sweat never left his skin. Bobby tried to push the worry aside and concentrated on Dean's blazing eyes that spoke of the restlessness wreaking havoc inside the younger hunter.

"Cas'll be back soon enough. How's the scar?" Bobby, careful not to raise his tone, shot a glance at Dean's belly. It didn't escape him how the eldest Winchester leaned slightly sideways favoring his right leg and hip.

Dean looked down his front and scowled. The sore skin puckered, imaginative tendrils still crawled under it, ceaselessly spreading through his flesh. An itching and slightly awkward sensation but compared with the Healing this was negligible. A shiver ran through him and he wondered if it was caused by the memory of the agonizing procedure or if he was having a fever. To be honest, he wasn't feeling too good but damn if he would ever admit that. There were bigger things at stake now. Sam. He had to find Sam... or Lucifer. Guilt gnawed at his heart with sharp pin prick teeth. _My fault. I should've stopped it. _

"... dinner?"

Looking up, the hunter realized Bobby had said something to him. Quirking an eyebrow, he pushed guilt and memories to the back of his mind and peered intently at the older man in front of him.

"I asked if you want burgers for dinner." Bobby pointed at the fridge and continued, "The meat's in there. Only need to fry 'em. Make yourself useful and stop naggin' will ya?"

Dean considered the promise of juicy, freshly made burgers and his empty stomach rumbled demandingly. They would take his mind of Sam and Lucifer. At least for some time. He nodded roughly in Bobby's direction, turned around again and set out to cook. He hadn't done that in a while, Dean noted. Thinking back, the last occasion he remembered preparing any kind of meal had been three years ago. In Salvation, after they had told Dad about Sam's visions. They had sat down around the small table and buried their teeth hungrily into the meat and they had laughed and joked. Like a family.

Busying himself with dinner preparations, Dean forced his mind to safer grounds and switched on the radio to dull the longing and nostalgia that had suddenly seized him in a vice-like grip.

****

**Klamath County, Oregon**

"Wakie-wakie, eggs and baky, Sam. We're nearly at our next stop and I don't want you to miss out on this experience!"

Sam gasped when he felt Lucifer's prodding presence permeate his shield. Realizing he wasn't strong enough to block the Devil out completely, he quickly yielded pretending to wake from unconsciousness. Pushing his plans to the farthest corner of his mind, Sam dropped his defenses and looked around blinking with non-existing eyes.

A weathered cabin loomed up ahead, snuggled against the mountainside as if hiding from the elements, surrounded by trees and bushes. The path leading up to it was cluttered with small rocks and stones, as if they intended to prevent the visitor from coming too close too fast. Lucifer dropped his eyes to the ground before walking on, memorizing the bigger threats that might cause even the Devil to stumble.

Sam was able to observe the cabin more closely when Lucifer moved his gaze upwards again. The two visible windows in the front wall of the building, left and right of the door, seemed grimy and dark, adding to the uninhabited air of the place. The roof was covered with leaves and small branches, grass and small plants grew there. Soon, nature would have re-conquered the unwelcome intruder it seemed.

The area surrounding the hut screamed neglect. Tufts of grass, grown to Sam's remarkable knee height dappled the clearing, interchanging with dead, stony and dust-covered patches. Two leaky, wooden pails, a rusty shovel and a scythe, several wood panels, logs and an ax lay strewn all over the dry, sandy ground or hid behind the plants. Two broken wood-chairs and a brittle table appeared to have been thrown across the -for want of a better word- front lawn by a giant as they had come to rest on their respective sides, yet roughly twenty yards away from each other. The obvious lack of care only strengthened the cabin's resemblance to an old, scared animal, hiding from its impending death. Lost and unloved.

Sam wondered what Lucifer was doing here. _'And where the hell is _here_ anyway.' _

"Well, I have business to attend to. You'll see, Sammy. And by the way, this place is called Lucifer Summit. I love it already." Chuckling good-naturedly to himself, Lucifer moved the hunter's long legs quickly over the last stretch of ground, giving an old bear-trap a wide birth. At last, standing right in front of the rickety door, Sam watched his hand knock.

_'Who lives here? What is this place?' _intrigued against his will, Sam felt apprehension grow in the pit of his imagined stomach.

"Oh, wait for it, Sammy. It's a surprise!" The captive cringed at the repeated use of his nickname. _'Only Dean gets to call me that!'_

"HA! What you're gonna do? Hit me? Shoot me? Guess you'll have to live with it, SAMMY." Putting all his malice in the last word, Lucifer knocked again, more demanding this time. "Hey, Walter! Open up!"

_'Who's Walter?' _totally flabbergasted, Sam forgot his own predicament for a while.

Lucifer laughed a cheery Sam-laugh, eerily reverberating in his skull and the imprisoned man winced and cowered down. _'Patience, grasshopper. You'll see. All in good time. And I'll make sure you won't miss a single thing!' _

Sam ducked away from Lucifer's words, wishing for the millionth time since the beach to be unconscious so that he wouldn't need to witness the coming events. Or to be dead. Yeah, that was actually a reasonable alternative.

Sam could hear a soft shuffling sound coming from inside the cabin, close to the door and to the left of it. Obviously the place was not nearly as empty as it appeared. Seemingly, Lucifer had picked up on it as well, because -imitating a panning camera- Sam's field of vision came to rest on the door and its handle.

"Come on. Open the door. You can't run from me! Give in and I will be gracious. Maybe even kill you quickly. This is it, the moment you've been waiting for all your life, Walt. Your single purpose." Sam flinched listening to his own voice, the pure evil presence perverting his soft tones, twisting them until they were too familiar and too alien at the same time. He felt abused, dirty. Hopelessness threatened to overwhelm him again. To be condemned to inactivity truly was the worst punishment. But he deserved it, didn't he? Deserved worse even. Hell.

Catching himself just in time before despair could reign over him once more, Sam returned his attention back to Lucifer's actions. Right hand lifted to eye level, palm facing the door, sudden darkness engulfed the imprisoned Winchester. Fighting against panic rising inside him, he clenched his fists... or what he had come to think of as fists. Slowly, beginning to feel in control of his emotions again, reason caught up with him, accompanied by an amused cackle from Lucifer. _'Easy, kiddo. I'm just using my own set of lock picks.'_

With a protesting creak, the door swung open and daylight flooded back into Sam's suffocating darkness when Lucifer opened his eyes again. Like a dark mouth of a long dead creature, the rectangular hole in the wall loomed in front of them. The interior smelled of decay and dust. Hardly any light seeped through the blind windows, casting the single room in an unsettling twilight.

Lucifer waited and Sam felt his hunter senses rising another notch.

A sudden movement on his left made him jerk in his shackles, painfully reminding him of his incarceration. But he dismissed the sensation immediately, focusing on the events unfolding before his disbelieving eyes, unable to intervene. A man in his mid-fifties, almost Sam's size, muscular and surprisingly agile given his age, bald, stubbly jaws, tattoos everywhere, threw himself at them, wielding a silver sword.

Gracefully, Lucifer retreated only a small step, tipped his body slightly to the left and grabbed his opponent's proffered arms by the wrists in one swift, flowing motion. He swung the man around full circle, unbalancing him with his inhuman strength. Walt's arms, now bone-breakingly crossed and twisted, lost their grip on the weapon and he sucked in a surprised, pained breath. The blade tumbled to the ground with a metallic _thunk_.

Lucifer chuckled again, amusement the prominent emotion in his voice. No malice. Almost childlike wonder colored his words. "You didn't really think you could kill me, did you Walt? _Me_? Nobody can kill me. I am eternal."

The man's eyes grew wide and he blanched visibly beneath the colorful tattoos adorning his face as he realized who had come knocking on his door .

"No... no it can't be, " he spluttered between clenched teeth when Lucifer enforced his grip on his wrists. Sam, fascinated against his own will, cringed hearing the unmistakable crunching, grating sound of small bones breaking in the Devil's grasp. A skull-shattering scream echoed around the wilderness, bouncing off cliffs and rocks, swirling up to the cloudless sky above them, unheard by the heavens. Walter sank weakly to his knees, unwanted tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut, mouth still open screaming silently.

"Oh, but it can. And it is._ I _am. And now your time has come. You knew it would eventually happen, didn't you? I mean this is kind of what you're supposed to prepare for!"

Pitilessly, Lucifer towered menacingly over the agonized man beneath him. Walter looked up again. Grief and fear vying for predominance in his features, he took in the innocent, soulful face of the young man torturing him. The dichotomy between his words and his appearance was almost as painful as the hot stabs of agony pulsing in his arms, threatening to rob him of his senses.

Sam closed his eyes briefly, fighting for sanity. This could not be happening. Hoping against hope that he was dreaming, he peeked between half closed eyelids. No. It was real. And he knew what was next, had known since they had come to the cabin, to be honest. Bracing himself for the presumably gruesome events, Sam took a deep breath, limbs shaking, blinking imagined tears away.

He had brought it on, so the least he could do was to face the consequences of his self-righteousness. Not for the first time that day, Sam wished he had listened to Dean, had heeded his brother's beseeching plea to give up on Ruby and her blood.

His own conscience, the small voice in his head had whispered constantly to stop and think. Somehow, the voice had sounded like Chuck telling him that sucking blood was wrong. Of course, Sam had agreed to that wholeheartedly. But understanding and actually stopping were two very different things. As different as day and night as a matter of fact. Going through detox had been his own private hell, including a cameo appearance of the one and only Alastair. During those few days, Sam had gotten an inkling of what hell might be like. Had been like for Dean.

Before he could stop it, his mind went back to the hours spent in Bobby's panic room, reliving the visions that had tormented him together with the excruciating physical pain. Facing his own reproachful, bitter younger self and, in the end, enduring his version of Dean taunting him had been agonizing.

Only Mary had been a soothing presence. Supportive and loving, the way he had always dreamed his mother to be when he had woken up in the middle of the night in a run-down motel, Dean snoring softly next to him. Those nights when he had yearned for a motherly hug, unconditional love surrounding him in a warming embrace.

Now Sam knew she had been a mirage born from his own mind fighting withdrawal, clasping for straws to hold on to sanity and justifying his decisions. How could he have been so deluded into believing her? Her words reverberated in his mind, clawing painfully at his heart. _"Dean can never know how strong you are, because Dean is weak... He is terrified... You have to go on without him... Do not let anyone or anything get in your way. Not even Dean." _

The fact that he had attributed these words to his mother only amplified the guilt searing his insides. Guilt for distorting his image of Mary and the dismissive attitude against Dean that had obviously sprung from his strung-out mind. Looking back, Sam felt sickened by his view of Dean personified in the vision of his mother. His brother who had always had one single purpose in life. To protect him. Sam's heart filled with remorse and threatened to burst; it ached in his imagined chest, pulsing red-hot. He wished he could make it up to Dean.

Brought back to his current situation by his own voice, softly crooning in the damp silence of the hut, Sam looked down at Walt. The man was barely conscious, pain marred his decorated features; the former menacing bulk of muscles had shrunken to a small, whimpering, pitiful man.

"And now, Walter. We're gonna have some fun. Sure, I could kill you here and now. But then, where's the fun in that?" A gentle, baritone laughter filled the air.

Never releasing the man from his clutches, Lucifer marched inside, dragging Walter behind him like a bag of bones, indifferent to his wails and howls piercing through nature's silence. Looking around, Lucifer found a chair and flicked his hand. Flying through the air it landed right in front of him, dispersing four small dust clouds, one for each leg of the piece or furniture. He pushed the whining, weeping man onto it, shattered arms fell limply down his sides, and the Devil leaned in close, Sam's lips almost caressing Walter's bald scalp, and sniffed smelling the panic wallowing around the victim in a thick cloud reeking of sour sweat and blood. Moving down one side of his head, Lucifer whispered into his Walt's ear.

"Shall we begin then?"

A tremble coursed through the older man, his shoulders drooped, defeat and surrender evident. "Please, no. I'll do whatever you want. Just please... don't..."

Cutting across the hoarse, tearful whisper, Lucifer droned on. "Oh, no. Not that easy. We'll have fun first."

Straightening up to his full height, Lucifer snatched Ruby's knife from his waistband and held it in front of Walter's angst-stricken eyes, balancing it across his middle finger.

"Now, I have always been somewhat of an explorer, you know. I am dying -pardon the pun- to find out what lies beneath your skin, Walter. So, let's find out, shall we?" He twirled the blade in his hand. Then, suddenly yet softly, the knife sank into Walter's neck, just below the right ear, drawing a find line of crimson tears. Lucifer tilted the knife sideways and slipped the blade between skin and subcutaneous tissue, separating, flaying.

Walter's tormented, maniacal screams were more than Sam could take and he tried to close his eyes against the graphic atrocities, tried to turn his back on the torture being dealt by his own hands. But he found he couldn't. Lucifer's will forced Sam's attention back onto the gore and blood, to the screams and wails, to the Devil's laughter.

Helpless, coerced to watch, Sam felt something small inside him shatter beyond repair. While Lucifer sliced and carved at the bloody mess formerly known as Walter, his mental captive realized with sudden painful clarity that this wasn't only what Dean had been subjected to but what he had – in the end – done to and endless remorse filled Sam already breaking heart equally_. _

_'Oh, Dean. I'm sorry. All this just because you brought me back.'_ And not for the first time since Cold Oak, Sam wished Dean had left him dead. A tremble ran through his existence and Lucifer, noticing the prisoner's guilt-ridden distress, laughed. Not an evil laugh. Amused and satisfied.

Fighting with all his might to remain sane, buying Walter and himself some time, Sam took refuge in asking Lucifer the first question that popped into his mind.

_'Why? Why are you killing him?' _He almost heard his shortness of breath in his mind's voice. Constant nausea and vertigo tormented the younger Winchester and he gulped against the bile burning bitter in his throat. The coppery smell of blood and salty tang of tears wafted around and finally found their way into Sam's prison.

_'How did Dean do it? How could he? This is... this is just … uh wrong.'_ Breathing through his nose Sam forced himself to calm down.

_~Yeah well. You sucked the stuff, bro'. Remember? I guess demon blood is more to your delicate taste than average human juice.~_ Dean's voice burst with reproach and disappointed trust, hollow and agonizingly real inside Sam's head.

The anguished hunter swallowed against overwhelming guilt clogging his throat, pressing his soul into a blazing, hard diamond of regret. How was it that his brother always knew? Always. A deep, lonely desire to see Dean, to truly hear his voice took hold of him. The need to finally fix things between them, to apologize for his self-righteousness and his selfish behavior was overpowering. Even being punched in the face by his brother would suffice at the moment.

Anything to fill that too familiar hole inside of him. The hole that had ripped open in his heart when he had held his brother's torn and bleeding corpse in his arms, eyes staring blindly into eternal nothingness. The bottomless hole first filled by alcohol and then by Ruby. Filled with her presence as much as with the gift of her own demonic blood. After his initial disgust, he had discovered how the energizing rush had numbed his grief, his loss and his loneliness, how it had draped a blissful crimson blanket of oblivion over the raw hole. Over Dean.

Lucifer chose to leave Sam's thoughts uncommented for the time being. Obviously, the prisoner was capable of torturing himself better than even the Devil could have done. A dimpled Sam-smile blossomed on his face and Walter's bloody, barely living form in front of him shrank back from the unnatural sight.

Instead, the Devil chose to pick up Sam's question. "I can't give away the big punch line just yet, Sammy. It's a surprise and there is more to come. I don't want to spoil it." The dying victim whimpered, his voice barely audible over Lucifer's rumbling laughter.

"FYI," the Devil went on. "Dean enjoyed this very much, you know? I presume he found his true calling in flaying and torturing. Was somewhat of a pop star downstairs. And way more elegant than I am. I guess you have to feel the pain and agony yourself first to truly appreciate the act. Ah, it was pure entertainment to watch your brother rip them apart, believe me. Graceful and skilled."

Distracted by his own story, Lucifer missed his victim's sudden jerk. Babbling indistinguishably through the blood pooling in his mouth, Walter reared up against the invisible restraints holding him in place. The knife Lucifer was holding accidentally cut too deep into the victim's neck, severed his carotid artery and Sam couldn't refrain from jolting backwards to avoid the red gush spraying all around. On its downward trail the blade sliced a thin cut into Lucifer's own hand, unnoticed by the Devil. But Sam saw it and immediately forced his mind to another part of the gruesome scenery trying to keep his sudden all-consuming hunger at bay.

A spark of hope blossomed in his mind. That was it. _He_ was possessed by a demon. In fact, the ultimate embodiment of all demons. How strong would his blood be? Strong enough? A ravenous craving gripped Sam and he pushed with all his might against it, fearing Lucifer would notice his mistake. But oh, it was so hard. The smell of his own blood was everywhere, the buds on his tongue prickled with the prospect of the taste. Sam swallowed, closed his eyes and fought for control. Finally, he trusted himself again, opened his eyes and stared in blatant disgust at the scene.

Walter twitched and trembled, his eyes never left the Devil's. Sam would have sworn there was vindictive satisfaction and relief in them. Walt had at least been able to decide the time of his death. His last conscious act. Lucifer knew it. And he hated him for it.

A roar built up inside Lucifer and just, as before, on the beach at Devil's Gate Rock, a whirlwind rose to swirl around the Devil. Satanic wrath coursed through his human host's veins, boiling his blood. Lucifer howled in rage. No one, NO ONE was supposed to thwart him. His eyes slid along the gory heap of flesh, bones and blood sitting on the chair. Lifting his arms in front of him, clenching his hands into fists, the body reacted instantly. Squashed in by invisible giant hands the twitching body exploded like a watermelon being hit by a shot gun and the dusty interior of the cabin was sprinkled with a fine red film of blood and a myriad of tiny, unrecognizable bodyparts.

Sam gagged and found Lucifer was too distracted to force him to witness the horrific scene any longer. He dry-heaved, surprised his imagined body reacted this way at all. Glad he could finally turn away from the graphic reality around him, he busied his tormented mind with his plan again. Lucifer hadn't seen the cut. He was sure of that. Now, all he needed was another moment of distraction and then maybe, just maybe, Sam would be able to take control of his own body long enough to answer his need for demonic energy. And of course to call Bobby. He needed to find out about Dean.

Barely controlling his need for a fix as his addiction clasped him full force, Sam reassembled the shield around him once more, trembling from the promise of impending satisfaction and re-newed power.

****

**Singer's Auto Salvage, South Dakota**

Dean absently furrowed his spiky hair and again, was surprised his hand came back soaked in sweat. So _not _a good sign. He shrugged his apprehension off and returned his attention to his disassembled Colt in front of him. Cleaning. Oiling. Reassembling. Soothing normality. His hands followed the routine, his mind wandered off, finding rest in the monotony of the action.

Subconsciously humming along the song wafting in from the radio in the study his insides froze when his mind finally registered the all too familiar lyrics. His mouth went dry but he found himself unable to turn away from the Metallica's apt poetry.

_...they dedicate their lives to running all of this, he tries to please them all, this bitter man he is, throughout his life the same, he's battled constantly, this fight he cannot win, a tired man they see no longer cares ... _

Swallowing hard, he stared blindly at the Colt sitting forgotten in his hands. Weariness embraced him and he almost welcomed it. Yet, a single, tormenting thought popped up when he let his guard down too much. The concept of his brother possibly alive and possessed, kept him from succumbing to the blissful promise of sleep.

Dean was tired of this life, had said it so many times over the last months. And now, when he had to be fresh and alert to look after his little brother, all his strength seemed to dwindle like a vine in the desert. Fate was a bitch. His whole life was fucked up and still everyone -even the Lord Almighty - expected him to carry on regardless. How? How the Hell was he supposed to achieve that? He felt drained and disillusioned.

A shiver ran through his body while the slimy, groping sensation in his side crept along his spine, caressing each vertebra and snaking around them individually, weaving a web of evil tendrils around them. Always moving further upwards. He was aware of the presence, oh Hell, yeah. Had tried to ignore it. Had even dismissed it as a figment of his vivid imagination. But it was there. And it grew stronger with every passing minute. This was part of why Dean needed to go after Sam _(Lucifer)_, to get his mind on different matters.

"What are _you_ thinking about?" The voice emotionless apart from faint curiosity made Dean jump and his back protested painfully as the tendrils tautened around his spine.

"Holy, uh... damn. Cas! Care to lay off the ninja tactics for a while? You nearly gave me a heart attack." Panting slightly, massaging his backbone with his left hand, he turned to face the angel.

"I am sorry, Dean. I did not mean to scare you."

Dean scowled unsure whether he heard a slight challenge in Castiel's response. Observing the stock-still angel, head once more cocked to one side, as if listening to a constant flow of celestial whispers, the hunter decided to ignore the possible mocking undertone in the sentence. Although, he was incapable of keeping sarcasm completely out of his own answer.

"Scare me. Right. I'll try to remember that." Barking a short harsh laugh, he continued, "Any _revelation_ about the Disgrace business from the Jedi Council upstairs?"

"They have yet to decide to reveal their decision to me. Zachariah however allowed me to use my own Healing on you in the meantime if need be. The extreme reactions last time were, so I think, the sheer force of the Almighty clashing with Lucifer's presence in you," Castiel explained, his eyes showing a far-away look.

"You think?" Dean could hardly suppress his own exasperation at the angel's obvious indifference. Speaking through clenched jaws, his tone took on a menacing nuance Sam had been subjected to over the last weeks whenever they had discussed the Ruby business and Sam's addiction. Sam would have known to shut up, duck and cover or to ready himself for a verbal sparring match. Sam...

Castiel's voice painfully hauled him back to the present. "Yes. It makes sense. The Holy Spirit is the strongest force in the world. The Word, as we call it, created everything. The moment it connected with Lucifer's Disgrace it caused something like a blackout in your system. Both energies canceled each other out. Creation meeting Annihilation. It is no surprise though. Sadly, your body was not created to harbor either of them. Of course, you could not withstand such eternal Powers." Turning around to look at some of Bobby's tomes with mild interest, Castiel completely missed the look on his charge's face.

"Of course." Irony seeping through his words like sulfuric acid, Dean took a deep breath, stood up from the chair with a hardly noticeable wince and crossed the few feet between him and the angel leaning casually against the doorframe leading to the study. He stood uncomfortably close to the heavenly creature. But Castiel didn't flinch or move back. He watched the hunter with interest. And that did it.

Dean finally exploded. "You know what Cas, I'm so sorry to be such a weak, dumb-ass human. Sorry, to let you and your all-knowing, all-loving, Almighty boss down. Sorry, to be such an imperfect, miserable burden to you and your friggin' superiors." He drew in a quick breath though his nose, chest hitching ever so slightly as the tendrils enforced their searing death grip on his spine.

He carried on regardless, "Let me make it easy for you. Get the hell back upstairs and stay there so I can go after S... Lucifer. I don't want to bother you or any of your brothers or GOD FORBID your Father," he spat the word at Castiel as if it tasted like bile, "anymore. I don't care if I die. I just... I just..."

All the fight seemed to leave him all of a sudden. His chest deflating, he turned away and flopped down on the chair again. "...want to find Sam." Dean lowered his head, staring at his shaking hands, fighting back tears of loss and self-pity that welled in his eyes all too often recently while the satanic twines threw a triumphant party in his back. He coughed against the sudden suffocating sensation in his chest. The pressure originated in his spine, pushing hard against his ribcage, squeezing his lungs in a steely grip as if an iron band had been cast around his torso constantly drawing tighter.

"Huh," was all he could come up with, afraid his anguish would eliminate his previous rant. Or his breath wouldn't suffice. Cynically, he decided to put his money on the latter. Something was so not right with him. The world swam before his eyes, his fingers morphing into indistinct pinkish blurs.

Dean was painfully aware of the weight of his torso supported by his elbows propped up on his thighs, the hard joints digging deep into his muscles. The task of holding himself up became more arduous by the second. A wave of vertigo washed over him and an intense stabbing sensation in his temples reminded him of pliers crushing an apple. Forcing air into his shrinking, burning lungs, Dean opened his mouth to ease the flow of the oxygen and dropped his head into his sweaty palms.

"You need replenishment," Castiel commented, not without compassion, stepping closer to the distressed hunter. The angel's eyes noted the sweat-soaked shirt as well as the slightly shivering thighs, arms and shoulders portraying the exhaustion Dean was so avidly hiding from him.

"Wha-hat?" Hiccuping against his own will and the wrought iron brace around his chest, the anguished Winchester forced his head up and locked eyes with the angel. "Come aga-hain?" Silently, he cursed his treacherous voice and continued to ignore the growing pain in his temples and chest, digging his fingers deep into his thighs to distract his mind from the real pain.

"Replenishment." Simple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, Castiel gestured to Dean and then peered at him closely. "You realize that if you don't accept my Healing you will eventually die, don't you Dean? My superiors assumed this would happen."

"Oh. Did they? We-hell, I'm gla-had they di-hid." The snark was lost bitterly due to the hiccuping and the apparent pain lacing his words. Dean sighed inwardly. Not even sarcasm worked anymore. _'Peachy.'_

Eying the once again silent angel suspiciously through half-closed lids, lashes shadowing his cheeks, Dean gave up.

"OK. How do-ho we get thi-his bitch out? What's ne-hext?" The pressure behind his lungs became almost unbearable and he tilted his head backwards, opening his airways completely to the desperately needed oxygen. His palms massaged the hammering, throbbing temples and he closed his eyes again.

"We can't expel it. I can only ease the pain." Castiel sounded genuinely apologetic this time, prompting Dean to look at him even if the daylight stung like a million small, sharp knives attacking his irises.

"Wha's tha'?" '_Slurred speech. Awesome. I'm so screwed.' _The groping tendrils now began to pull at his side, closer to his scar and the sensation grew nauseatingly painful with each itching and scratching movement beneath his skin. "Damn. Cas, spill it... "

"We will have to apply my healing powers to stop the wound from reopening. It will not be the same experience as last time. My powers are very small compared with those of my Father. I can only heal the actual symptoms. And only for a short time."

Staring out of the window, Castiel waited for Dean's protest. And sure enough, he was not surprised when he heard the weary hunter get up from his chair and walk toward him. Castiel turned around again and this time even he hadn't expected the look of pure, raw disgust etched into the Dean's pale face. Forcing himself not to shrink back against the counter, the angel stood his ground and peered expectantly into the Winchester's face.

"So, basically you're... telling me... that... I need … Grace-refills... every few... hours?" Though sarcasm and displeasure were clearly there, Dean was embarrassed to hear his own weak voice and the strangled pauses in between them. Nothing menacing about a wheezing, choking man. Stars danced before his eyes, fingers and toes prickled and the vertigo seemed to have taken up constant residence in his head. Vision graying, he grabbed hold of the table next to him and bent forward, trying to liberate his chest from the semi-truck that seemed to have parked there for the night.

"You need my Healing now. We should proceed immediately." Reaching out for Dean's forearm, Castiel grabbed hold of the hunter and was surprised at the lack of physical protest. Obviously even Dean knew when to accept help, that or he was too busy breathing. Steering the blindly stumbling man to the couch, Castiel realized a change in the Winchester. His shoulders drooped, head hanging low, all tension seemed to have left the man. Dean collapsed heavily onto the cushions and yelped a pained scream between clenched teeth. His left cupped the scar on his side and Castiel began to feel the first stirrings of forbidden panic when he saw the red, sticky liquid welling between Dean's shivering fingers.

The front door flew open at that moment and Bobby's steps stomped along the hallway, followed by a softer echo of smaller feet.

"Look what the cat dragged in, Dean. She tells me you've history! Not that I'm surprised to hear that..." Singer's voice devoid of apprehension and practically brimming with good-natured mockery grew closer. And sure enough, only a few seconds later, Bobby turned the corner and stared into the study. His face immediately fell, deathly pallor to rival Dean's crept into his facial skin and he dropped the bag with beer and groceries he was carrying.

Anna sidestepped the old hunter and approached the sofa, quicker than humanly possible.

"What is going on Castiel? Why is he... What happened here?"

_~TBC~_

**

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Endnotes**

A) Title and lyrics taken from the song _Unforgiven _by_ Metallica. _

B) I am not sure I will be able to finish the next chappie in time, which would mean there could be a longer break between 5 and 6...Sorry, it's exam week (finals! How fitting... *sighs*) and I will need some time to get them done properly. Yes, I DO have a life outside of the fandom. And yes, sometimes it is more important (_*growls at fate*_).

So, thanks for reading and I hope to see you on the next one...


	6. I'm On Dry Land Won't You Help Me Please

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Castiel  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter:** 6/?, I'm On Dry Land Won't You Help Me, Please?  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for current season (up to 4.21)

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.

**Summary:** Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways... (follows mostly canon up to 4.21; after that AU)

_"Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts. It ends now. I'm ending it. Not happening. Never."_

Hurt Dean, tormented Sam

**A/N I: **Lots of angst and graphic torment (mental and physical), therefore and for some strong swearwords and gory action rated M.

**A/N II:** Please note, that this story may contain occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no** time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious , I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.

**A/N III: **Thanks to my beta Cal for her patience and beta'ing. And I want to thank you guys for your patience and the kind reviews as well. I am sorry it took so long to come up with a new chapter. First exams and then the convention... Somewhere in between I lost my muse... maybe she took off with J2 when I didn't look.

* * *

_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

Chapter 06: I'm On Dry Land, Won't You Help Me, Please?

_"...she saw the child: and, behold, the babe wept. And she had compassion on him..."  
~ Exodus 2:6 ~_

The Chevrolet's engine hummed soothingly, always heading east on Interstate 80, the moonlight glinting and glistening on the black hood; a cold, silver light bathed the interior of the car. Sam shivered and his imaginary shackles fastened once again around his joints.

They had just passed Osino, Nevada, a small town not really deserving the title. Consisting of a few strewn out houses and a truck stop on the side of the Interstate, Lucifer hadn't even bothered to slow down.

The only other vehicles on the motorway in the dead of the night were trucks, big headlights stung in Sam's fictive eyes and he kept blinking away the circular afterimages burnt into his irises, tiny bluish suns that seemed to erupt into mini novas on the back of his eyelids once they closed.

Lucifer was eerily silent. No taunts, not even music chosen from his brother's collection to mock Sam's loneliness and guilt filled the younger Winchester's head. He wondered where the Devil was heading and had even tried to ask him. A mysterious "You'll see it when we get there" and a dry snort had been all the satanic puppeteer would reply.

Right now, Sam was glad Lucifer had taken to silence. Something was definitely wrong with him. He felt shivery, cold and sweaty, even though he was absolutely clear on the lack of a real body. A pressure deep in his stomach continued to grow in intensity and was just on the brink of being painful. It felt as if an anvil had been placed on his abdomen and about an hour ago an unseen blacksmith had started to hammer on it. Steadily, in sync with his imagined heartbeat.

_'Withdrawal.' _Or at least that was what he thought it would be. How come he was still addicted when he had no body? He was barely more than a presence, blessed or cursed with coherent thought at the moment. No way in Hell was there a way he should be _feeling_ this worn out and sick.

Since their last stop in Oregon, since he had been subjected to stand witness to Lucifer's joy of killing Walt, since he had smelled his own blood tainted by the satanic energy coursing through his veins, his longing for a fix had been constantly growing. Now, Sam was in full blown withdrawal. He couldn't help but looking at the small cut on his right forefinger with a deep seated yearning. Of course, he knew he had to guard his mind but the overall weakness encompassing him was too strong, his eyes tracing the small, pink crevice in the calloused skin. Just one sip. One drop and he would be better and might be able to fight Lucifer.

His dad had fought Azazel all those years ago in the cabin in the woods. When Dean had been too hurt to keep a weakened plea out of his voice. The memory swam to the front of his awareness and he wondered how it seemed to be a lifetime ago. His dad with yellow, cold eyes and the sarcasm fresh and tormenting springing from the familiar lips. Lips that had used to kiss his sons goodnight so many years ago. Lips that had barked orders like a drill instructor. But that night they had been flews of a malicious tiger ripping his brother apart both physically and mentally. And yet, somehow John had been able to suppress his captor for a short moment but long enough to let Sam and Dean go. And his father hadn't even had the powers Sam possessed. Okay, Azazel was no Lucifer. But Sam had defeated Lilith, Lucifer's first demon child. And it wasn't about _killing_ the Devil. He only needed a few minutes to check on Dean.

His own voice cut through his meandering thoughts like a sharp blade. "We're almost there, Sammy. You up for some fun? You'll love this one. She's tough and mysterious, just like you like 'em." Lucifer snickered softly at his own joke. "It's been pretty dull these last hours. Don't you always feel low after a killing? You're full of adrenaline one moment and the next, when it's over, everything else seems less enjoyable, doesn't it? Tell me, how did it feel when you killed Lilith? Or in the beginning, when you killed the hosts along with the demons? I hope it was a bit of a thrill. Nothing is better than feeling the power to end a life."

Sam didn't bother to reply. He was sick of being taunted and mocked, of being imprisoned and helpless. He was sick. Period. The pressure in his gut became a stab all of a sudden. He curled in on himself and tried to breathe through the white hot sharpness that cut through him, seemingly slicing him in halves. His mind clouded over and his whole being was reduced to a single thought. _Hurts_.

"Sammy? You OK?" The words echoing through his head were so familiar it doubled Sam distress to hear them and he writhed against the invisible chains holding him in place. Only, the movement aggravated his agony, rendering him gasping for air. Sam felt, truly _felt,_ tears soaking his cheeks and wondered vaguely if he had finally lost his mind after all. Numerous occasions of Dean asking him those same few words flashed before his eyes. Always the worry about his baby brother's safety the prime directive in Dean's voice. Sometimes in a weak, hardly audible tone, on others strong and barely controlled rage lacing it.

"Feeling a little strung out, are we? Well, that's what you get when you mess with the Devil. I bet you'll feel better once we meet Jenna. She's gonna be even more fun than poor old Walt. There's just something about fighting women, don't you think? Take Ruby for example."

At the sound of her name, Sam's insides suddenly froze and he strained to listen. "She sure is a coward. But if I was her I would hide, too. Not from me. No, I am quite happy with her. But you must be pretty pissed off with her. After all, she made you a junkie and led you to believe you had to kill Lilith to stop me. That'd really tick me off."

Before he could stop himself he followed Lucifer's mockery and said disbelievingly_ 'What do you mean? She... no... she didn't know. She couldn't have. She would've told me...'_

"And what makes you think that? That you got to screw with her a coupla times? That she saved you from a few of my demons? Well, I hate to break it to ya, Sammy. That's all part of the plan."

Sam's mind was racing with the possible implications of Lucifer's words and he tried hard to find a lie or false accusation in them. In vain. So, Dean had been right all the time and he, Sammy, had been too silly to see the truth.

"Sorry, kiddo. This joke's on you. You know, you made it so easy. You, trying to protect your weak brother. You, trying to be the hero for once. You, being the Chosen One, the one who can stop it all? Seriously, Sammy. You need to lay off watching Harry Potter. I'm not Ralph Fiennes and you're not Dan Radcliffe. You know that's just a story, right? Talk about megalomania..."

Baritone laughter rang through the dark shadows of the Impala and Sam tried to control the spasms wracking his limbs, as painful tremors feeding on his wrath and his weariness shook him. A muffled moan escaped his imagined mouth when the pain became unbearable and he sensed his alertness waver and wilt. With a sorrowful sigh he embraced oblivion. Just rest. Escape. Everything just to get away from the remorse, the self-pity and the agony howling inside him.

****

**Singer's Auto Salvage, South Dakota**

The red liquid felt warm in his hand and Dean was surprised at how little it scared him that the wound had re-opened. Breathing had become the most important matter, the blood could be dealt with later. Tiny sparks raced like comets in front of his eyes and he had trouble focusing on the familiar faces staring in his direction. The tension quickly became too much to bear and he searched his mind for a sarcastic remark to brush over it. None came to him. _'Too tired.'_ His gaze slipped down to his knees and he felt an unwanted jolt of panic when he saw his legs trembling. _'Not good.'_

Castiel's face seemed odd. Something had shifted in the angel's plain expression. Something... worry? _'Oh crap. If he's worried, I'm screwed.' _

Anna's look alternated between the hunter and the male angel, large eyes filled with compassion and sorrow. Her question echoed dully in his brain and Dean had to force himself to grab its full impact. The obvious surprise in her tone had raised his own panic another notch. Enough to intensify his difficulties with breathing. Damn, that iron cast seemed to sear his skin. Vision tunneling Dean watched Castiel searching for an explanation in the angel's … WORRIED … complexion. _'That is so not good.'_

"'S 'e ma'er?" _'Huh. Slurred speech. Sound like a __wasted__ British pirate.'_ Dean tried again with a little more effort at forming the letters before they left his disturbingly uncooperative tongue.

"What's the matter? Never see a guy bleed?" _'Good one. Guess I found my sarcasm after all. Now flash a cool grin, Winchester. Always a winner with the chicks.' _

But from Bobby's annoyed and anxious frown Dean could tell he was fooling no one with his feeble attempt at his usual cockiness. And he couldn't care less. Talking had been a little too demanding it seemed, as he had trouble catching up on his speech-induced lack of oxygen. _'Silence it is then. I can do that. Just count. No humming. Costs air. Very precious stuff, air. God. It's getting so damned hard to breathe.' _His vision graying out even more, the desire to flush his lungs with fresh cool air became overwhelming. The overall urge to thrust oxygen down his bronchia eradicated all other thoughts. Panic overruled all other instincts and with streaming eyes Dean searched for Bobby.

The older hunter caught the unvoiced yet apparent plea for comfort and raced to Dean's side. Pushing both angels unceremoniously out of the way, he knelt down next to Dean and grabbed hold of the struggling man's sweaty, shivering right hand. It was clenched in a tight fist, the white knuckles barely standing out against the once again deathly pallor of his taut skin.

"It's gonna be alright, son. Just relax. We'll work this out, okay? Just hang in there." Trying his best to keep his own worry out of his voice Bobby looked right into Dean's haunted eyes while squeezing the clammy fist, feeling weak tremors through the close contact. A hardly visible nod confirmed that the younger man had understood and Singer shot a quick glance at the other two persons in the room who seemed to have turned into iconic marble pillar saints.

"You gonna do anything about this, Cas? Or you wanna wait for some other divine intervention?"

The threat beneath his challenging words seemed to break the spell. The angel reacted almost instantly, hefting his gaze on Bobby he advanced on the two humans and the battle-proven hunter had to do his best to prevent himself from shrinking back from the once again awe-inspiring aura encompassing Castiel. Trench coat billowing behind him, Castiel bent his knees to crouch down in front of Dean and put his hands on top of the left, blood-smeared hand covering the gash in the hunter's belly. Releasing Singer's eyes with one last cool warning not to go too far flashing in his stare he peered intently into Dean's flat, panic-stricken eyes.

"Dean? I can only do this once every twenty-four hours. My powers are weaker and will not last. Your injury, worsened by Lucifer's Disgrace, has proven to be graver than we expected. You will need to rest after I heal you. Or we risk you getting worse before I can perform my healing again." His words never lost any of their usual stiltedness yet both hunters sensed the underlying care.

While Bobby nodded curtly in reply, Dean simply concentrated on breathing. The warm stickiness soaking the better part of his shirt and the slowly increasing cold numbness creeping up his legs only added to his panic. Anything, anything to breathe normally again. His watering eyes and the comets chasing each other blurred the angel's face and he tried to blink. He found his eyelids weighed a hundred pounds and he lacked the strength to pry the open again. Dean willed them open with all his might, afraid to be caught in the dark, breathless and helpless.

Castiel nodded mirroring Bobby eerily and closed his eyes, the horizontal furrows on his forehead straightening out and jaw muscles going slack. For a fleeting second Dean wondered if the angel would perform the ritual open-mouthed and an involuntary urge to laugh made him clench his own jaws and in turn only rendering him light-headed from the effort. Disgust and panic now rivaled for the lead. To soothe the emotional upheaval he focused on the angel in front of him again, pushing every other thought or feeling to the back of his mind. _'Breathe. In and out. All that matters now. Can't let go. Sam. Need to get Sammy back.' _

Anna watched silently, arms folded over her chest, fingers digging deep into her flesh, while her brother performed his Healing. A frown seemed deeply engraved on her face, evidence of her concern for both men.

Dean bucked under the bright sparks dancing frenetically over his body in electrical arches. Weak moans and gasps escaped between dry, blue lips. Once, his clenched fist nearly knocked Bobby out had the older hunter not reacted instinctively and dived under the blow. Time seemed to slow down to a halt. A never ending excruciating sequence of spasms and agony.

As much as the ritual tormented Dean it also cost Castiel dearly. Anna examined the angel's by now hollowed features and the sweat beading his forehead. Lips pressed in a thin bloodless line, none of the usual undisturbed, indifferent outer appearance was left. Jaws, now clenched shut tightly, Anna sensed the distress in her angelic sibling radiating off him in hot waves. The rigid tension in his posture betrayed the angel's own distress. He would need to stop soon or risk permanent damage to either the human host and himself.

Eventually, Castiel opened his eyes wide and huffed audibly. After an eternity of merely five minutes, the sparks had merged in one bright, white pulsating light orb over Dean's abdomen. Fine threads of the same luminescence spun from the orb and wove a cocoon of healing energy over the gash closing it slowly but steadily. The ragged edges flattened out and the ruby-red liquid sank back into Dean's belly. Both men now breathed heavily, shivering with the toll the ritual had taken out of them both.

The angel cast his eyes down on the now immaculate skin and watched while the Healing light slowly retreated back into his fingertips. It seemed to take an immense effort to pull his hands from Dean. Castiel's arms weighed tons and he felt worn out. Battling Lucifer's Disgrace had been even more arduous than he had expected and he feared it might take longer to replenish his powers. Still, it had worked. For now.

He straightened up, aware of the stiffness in his legs and the pressure in his neck. He rolled his shoulders subconsciously mimicking his charge's method to flex the knotted muscles there. A quick sideways glance at Anna confirmed his presumption. She wanted answers. Castiel sighed and walked over to the kitchen hardly preventing himself from collapsing onto the chair without the usual heavenly grace. Head hanging down, his fingers immediately began kneading his neck. When had he ever felt this exhausted? When had he ever _felt_?

Dean gulped down the fresh air like a thirsty man finding a spring after a trip through the Sahara._ 'Better than beer. Crap, this is better than sex.' _He relished the dusty air, ignoring the lingering hints of stale cooking smells in it. A soothing warmth spread across his torso, rushing down his limbs until he felt his muscles finally relax. Gingerly, he tried to pull himself up into a sitting position, shoving both hands deep into the thread bare cushions.

That wasn't too hard. Good. Now, what about a few words to break the uncomfortable silence ringing in the house?

Dean looked to his right and saw Bobby still hunkered down, obviously speechless. An awe-struck expression that might have been ludicrous under different circumstances and would have prompted a very snarky comment otherwise mingled with lingering concern. Dean was immediately reminded of Bobby previous words of comfort. Son. He had called him son. Another kind of warmth filled him, now. Gratitude for Bobby's never wavering support, for his comfort. Dean realized how hard his death must have hit not only his brother but also Singer. A quick smirk directed at the crouching figure next to him and Bobby unfroze. The brief smile had told of words Dean would never allow himself to speak. Words of thanks and appreciation. The older man understood. Bobby pulled himself up and huffed out a breath he might have been holding almost too long. The shivering sound accompanying the airflow wasn't lost on the older Winchester. The older man slightly averted his gaze and quickly squeezed Dean's shoulder and brushed his other hands across his face.

"Now. That was fun. When can we do this again, Cas? I bet after next time I'll be able to take over as a light bulb for a few days." His voice was still hoarse and he sounded notably more exhausted than he had expected himself.

Anna advanced so quickly on him he almost didn't see her coming. Dean flinched against his will and found she had anticipated his attempt at getting out of her reach. One hand splayed right above his heart, pushing him firmly back into the back of the couch with almost no effort, she leveled her eyes with Dean's. The steely, cool stare blazing in her eyes made Dean muster all his cockiness to not shrink back from her. When she spoke her words were barely audible and yet so menacing he finally realized how much this Anna differed from the human she had been before.

"This isn't funny, Dean. You do understand that Cas nearly killed himself to heal you, don't you? And if we don't find a cure you will eventually die. So, why don't you stop being a smartass until we figure out our next step!"

A snort from his right confirmed that Bobby obviously shared Anna's opinion. Trying to change the topic as quickly as possible he peered back into the female angel's eyes.

"_Our_ next step, is it? When did you sign up for this?" Encouraged by his own firm voice he carried on while Anna took a step back.

"What brings you to us? I thought you were in angel boot camp. At least that's what Cas told me." He felt immediately regretted his harsh words and wasn't surprised to see a shadow flicked over her face. Standing up slowly, he approached Anna, one hand outstretched in an apologizing gesture.

"No. You're right, Dean. I was in … boot camp. And it wasn't that much fun." Her eyes flickered over to Castiel for the fraction of a second and Dean was sure he saw regret and betrayal in them. "But the important thing is I got out. I needed to come because there is something you should know."

Cocking an eyebrow, Dean let his hand drop to his side and watched Anna expectantly. He heard a rustle of clothes from the kitchen and saw Bobby stepping closer behind him. The other hunter and the angel apparently shared his own curiosity at Anna's sudden appearance.

"So?"

Anna turned halfway from them, composing herself and then she continued. "I know where Lucifer is. Or was."

The chair in the kitchen was shoved across the linoleum when Castiel finally decided to reenter the study.

Dean thoughts stumbled over each other at that piece of information. How did she know? That meant Sammy was there too, didn't it? Where were they and what was Lucifer up to? A wave of nausea rolled over him. He closed his eyes and he dug his fingernails deep into his palms hoping for the sudden pain to clear his head again. It worked.

No one said anything for a few minutes, each person occupied with their own thoughts and feelings at the unexpected turn of events.

"So, does that mean we can hunt him and... and...," Dean's voice trailed off as he realized he didn't even know what to do with the Devil to get rid of him. Especially, since he still possessed his brother. His mind summoned up an agonizing memory of Sam's emotionless hard eyes and the amused, dimpled grin that had shone from his face when he had turned the knife in Dean's belly indifferently. The ghost of the painful experience brushed over Dean and a cold hand clutched at his heart, squeezing it, threatening to rip it out. Before he could stop himself he gasped and tried to sell it off as a cough a little too late for it to really do the trick.

Castiel, however, had obviously picked up on another implication of Anna's news. "How do you know where he is? What has he done?" The apparent exertion lacing the angel's voice brought Dean back to his senses like a bucket full of icy water.

"A hunter has been killed. In Oregon. At Lucifer's Summit."

Castiel stared at the female angel wordlessly. An affirmative nod was all he came back with while Anna held his stare.

Looking from one angel to the next Dean felt his patience evaporating. "Dammit! You angels really don't do straight answers! What's so special about this hunter? Any critter could've done that! Why do you think it was Sa... Lucifer?" Rage at his own ignorance caused the consequential slip of the tongue. All his energy seemed to melt away as quickly as snow in June. His knees shook and he grabbed the nearby door frame for support when the whole meaning of his own mistake finally sank in. It would have been Sam. At least on the outside. People would think it was his baby brother committing crimes and not the freaking Devil following his own master plan. Sam was in grave danger. Not just from Lucifer. And there would be hunters gearing up this moment to hunt him down and kill him not knowing that they would end up dead, too. Or it might just be some random hunter found the right way to off the Devil inside his sibling and kill Sam alongside. Emotions and protectiveness running wild, Dean still had a nagging feeling he was missing an important detail the angels had obviously grasped right away.

It was Bobby who made the connection in the end. "That's Walt. Walter's been guarding the devil's gate there. What's Lucifer up to?" He shot a covert glance at Dean when he mentioned Sam's captor. _'The boy's pale as a sheet again. So much for resting and relaxing. Bet he's back bleeding on my couch in no time.'_ "You know somethin' we don't?"

Anna answered, her voice firm but only a little more than a whisper. "We don't know yet. But I thought you should know."

This time Dean was quickest on the uptake. "What does _we_ mean? You working with the angels again? I thought you were some kind of a Paul Revere with wings." Suspicion lending his voice such a sharp edge, Anna looked up and for a short instant Dean saw hurt in her eyes.

"I know you don't trust the angels. But this is me, Dean. And I promise I will let you know as soon as I find out more about it." While she had been talking, Anna had moved closer to Dean. She stood so close to him now, he could see tiny brown spots in her irises. The younger hunter felt her honesty and care dissolving his doubts and suspicions and took a deep liberating breath.

"OK." Dean cleared his throat, amazed at the raw emotions lacing it. "Let's say you don't know more than let on. How's that gonna help us?"

"I don't know yet, Dean. But we'll figure it out. And there is something else you might want to know."

"Oh?" Dean felt apprehension creeping into his joints again, stiffening them. He cracked his knuckles to ease the tension building inside him.

"There is a way to help your... condition. To heal you for good."

Castiel stepped closer one hand raised warningly. "No, Anna. I discussed it with Zachariah. That is not an option."

"It is the only option, Cas, and you know it. Everything else will only lead to a prolonged death. You can't want that. You saved him from hell." Anna concentrated on Castiel now.

"I know what I did, there is no need reminding me. I have my orders. Zachariah made it very clear."

"You can't let our only hope die. Don't you see, Castiel? This is the moment. This is the one time you need to decide for yourself."

It took a few seconds for Dean to catch up. '_The only hope? Die?' _"What the Hell are you two talking about?" he growled out in a voice very much like his father's when John had demanded the truth, an imminent menace lacing each word. "And I want real answers. No more Angel-Jeopardy anymore. Spill it!"

"There is still hope, Dean. But we need to hurry. I know you want to go after Sam but first we need to find your cure." Anna reached for Dean's cheek, a soft almost impalpable touch, yet it contained all her compassion and love. There was no false pity in it and he closed his eyes and leaned into it, drawing strength and confidence from the brief touch. Anna smiled a little lopsidedly and held his cheek for another second before she dropped her hand again.

Turning to her fellow angel she asked "Do you want to tell them or shall I?"

****

**Devil's Gate, Nevada**

"No!" her shrill voice carried through warm nest of darkness, penetrating it and finally ripping it to pieces. "You're _not_ gonna get me that easy, you son of a bitch!"

Sam opened his eyes and blinked caught off guard. A girl, maybe a little younger than himself, stood in a single room house. Charms and spells covered the floor and the walls. The imprisoned hunter recognized some of the drawings as he had used them on previous hunts himself. Others were completely new to him. The room as a whole had a much more lived-in look to it than Walt's shack had had. There were books on shelves, a few plants – herbs, Sam noted - stood on the window sills. The room was dominated by the largest couch Sam had ever laid eyes on. Obviously, the girl – _Jenna... he said her name was Jenna_ – slept on it judging by the jumble of sheets and cushions on it.

In the far left corner a small kitchen was set up, consisting mainly of a hot plate, a coffee machine and a fridge. In the middle of the opposite wall, Sam saw another door, presumably leading to the bathroom. A random picture crossed Sam's mind of Jenna washing her dishes in the bathroom sink.

On the right side of the room, Sam saw a laptop and a radio receiving set, neatly assembled on a desk. The only wooden chair in the room had been kicked over and in the act lost one of its legs. There was a pool of an indistinguishable liquid right next to it, glinting in the silvery, merciless moonlight coming from the three clean windows. '_Holy water, I bet. This girl knows her job.' _

Jenna stood in the middle of the room, long blond curls slightly untidy, snarling back at him, her full lips curved into a disgusted grimace._ 'Not at me, at Lucifer,' _Sam corrected himself. The Devil made a step into Jenna's general direction, chuckling softly. His captive felt his imagined heartbeat speed up a little. This girl was in mortal peril and all he could do was watch her die. Her blue eyes ablaze with unhidden hatred she intensified her grip around a knife, adjusting it in her right hand to match Sam's advantage in height and range. She was slightly bend forward, ready to lash out, a fierce lioness prancing, getting ready to attack.

Sam's eyes rested a little longer on a strand of her curly long hair that had fallen right across her nose. He waited for her to blow it away with one well aimed puff of air from her mouth and caught himself thinking of Jessica. He remembered those few fights they had had and how each time she had ended up blowing away that single, perky strand that had always landed in front of her eyes. Sam had learned to fear that 'final blow' as it usually had enraged her even more and never boded well. The first time he had seen her blowing it away he had started laughing and immediately had come to regret that. She hadn't spoken with him in three days. Dinners had been an arctic experience and at night he had found himself lonelier than he had in a long time even though she had been sleeping mere inches from him.

"You remind me of a girl I once loved, Jenna. Her name was Jessica." Sam's voice was friendly, flirtatious.

In his dark prison, Sam raged against his chains. He had lost count of how many times he had tried to pull himself loose now. _'Shut up, you fucking bastard. Let her go! I kill you, I swear and if it's the last thing I do.'_

_'Oh, Sammy... you're deluding yourself completely, now. Since when do _you_ call the shots, huh? Sit back and enjoy this. I am gonna do something very special for you. You'll love it. Or not. Never mind. _I_ will enjoy it.'_

The short exchange between Lucifer and his captive had been long enough for Jenna to attack and sink her knife to the hilt into Sam's chest. In a nauseating imitation of Sam's own hands, she twisted the handle and pulled it out again, jumping back out of reach of the Devil who was howling in rage. Sam admired Jenna's grace and swiftness during her assault and was painfully reminded of his brother's movements in a fight.

She dropped the knife, leaped towards the sofa and produced a shot gun from between the beddings on the massive couch, cocked it and pulled. Sam heard the sickly, slushy impact of the salt rounds and saw thin threads of smoke rise the holes in his chest. Other than that, the shotgun had no effect and Lucifer howled again... with laughter, now.

"Sweetheart, you have got to be kidding me. Salt rounds? Holy water? I admit, the knife smarted a little. Where'd you get that? But seriously. Have you forgotten who you're up against? You can't stop me!"

Two more quick steps and Lucifer was over her, grabbed her forearms and pinned her effortlessly to the floorboards. Jenna wriggled and kicked with her legs, determination now mixed with fear. All of a sudden, the Devil let go and simply stretched out his hand pointing at the young woman. From Sam's point of view the current scene was overlaid with similar situations over the last twelve months when had exorcised demons from human hosts and most recently even killed them. The same hand now flicked to the right and the huntress was slammed into the wall behind her. She gasped and cried out in pain. Sam swore he had heard a few ribs cracking on the impact and sure enough only a few seconds later Jenna's breath became ragged and irregular accompanied by a moist, gurgling sound. _'Perforated lungs.' _His scientific mind assessed the injury matter-of-factly but he felt oddly detached from that part of himself. As if he was listening to a football game and ignoring the annoying commentators.

Bright red foam pooled in the corner of her mouth and Jenna's eyes widened in mortal terror.

"You know, sweetie, I have a special reenactment planned for tonight. You see, this meat suit I am wearing belongs to a fellow hunter. His name is Sam and he has a recurring theme in his life. The women he loved most all died. Two of them in a very unusual way. And the best part is, Jenna, you look so much like them. Don't you think so too, Sammy?"

Lucifer made a theatrical pause and then lifted his hand a little further. Jenna moaned when her body obeyed its orders and was pushed up the wall.

_'No! You goddamn sick son of bitch! Don't you dare do that! Stop! Please, stop!' _His words quickly morphed from wrathful insults into a soft plea for mercy. Tears streamed down his cheeks again and he didn't even care if the sensation was real or if his presence had conjured it up simply to prevent him from insanity.

Watching with horror as Jenna's limp body was shoved to the ceiling, her hair draped around her like wavy, blond halo, Sam screamed. The terrible, crimson grin blossoming in her lower abdomen mocked his despair. With an effort he pulled his gaze from the gash and searched the girl's eyes instead as if he could console her by his invisible presence. To his astonishment Jenna's eyes lit up for a short moment and she smiled weakly.

"I'm... sorry,... Sam." Her words were muffled by the blood dropping from her mouth in frothy threads but he heard her. When her eyes closed finally, Sam felt hope instead of the intended despair.

* * *

**End Notes: **Title is taken from _Marillion's Dry Land_. Yeah, I am a fluffy, rock, pop, 80's chick, so what? Still is a great song....


	7. Blasphemous Acts

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Castiel, Anna  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter: **7/?,  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for current season (up to 4.21) **accidental spoilers** for current season!!!!!

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.  
**Summary:**_ Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways... (follows mostly canon up to 4.21; after that AU)_

_"_Winchester luck. No rest, no peace just war. Endless war. His father's words wormed their way into his thoughts._ It ends now. I'm ending it. _Not happening. Never_."_

Hurt Dean, tormented Sam

**A/N I: **Lots of angst and graphic torment (mental and physical), therefore and for some strong swearwords and gory action rated M.

**A/N II:** Please note, that this story may contain occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no** time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious , I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.

**A/N III: **Thanks to my beta Cal for her patience and beta'ing.

**A/N IV:** I had one HELL of a writer's block over the summer, please excuse me for that. However, it would seem the muse is back up and running and I found a way out of the corner I wrote myself into. And this chapter has been conceived and mostly written BEFORE the first two episodes of season 5 aired. So, any similarities are accidental! Please note that this chapter (and the remainder of the story) relates back to some events that have happened in my other multichapter _**Links**_. So, this story has somehow become a loose sequel to _**Links**_ without my intention. It just happened and I think it's for the better. Please lemme know what you think about it. I don't think it's necessary to read _**Links**_ to understand the events now happening but it would certainly help. And who am I to keep you guys from reading my other stories? ***giggles***

* * *

_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

Chapter 07: Blasphemous Acts

"...I am the Lord your God, ... Do not have any other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol,... You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me,..."  
~Exodus 20:2-5~

"So?" Dean's head swiveled from one angel to the other, Bobby behind him nodded silently. "Any time soon would be a good time. What cure?"

"We can't, Anna. Zachariah has other plans. And he is not going to let Dean die. He still needs him, you know that." The urgent plea in Castiel's words sounded sickeningly unlike his usual reserved, matter-of-fact voice.

Anna shrugged and glared at her brother. "I don't really care for Zach's plans anymore, and neither should you! I learned my lesson, Castiel. I'll never trust them again. The things they did to me..." Her voice trailed off and hurt flickered across her pallid face. Dean looked away as the raw pain in her voice echoed his own hoarse confession six months ago.

Anna broke the deafening silence first. "There is a cure, Dean. And we might find a way to stop Lucifer, too, if we make our move now. We need to plan and act very soon or risk Lucifer winning."

"Well? What's he up to?" Dean neglected the promise of a cure for now and jumped to the more pressing matter of saving Sam.

"Lucifer has killed Walter. He's been guarding a Devil's Gate. Dean, it was no coincidence that Lilith broke the last seal on that particular beach. If I'm right, he's trying to open the gates."

"The gates? The gates to Hell?" Bobby's gruff voice cut in, quicker in the uptake than Dean. "But there are about a dozen possible gates. We'd never be able to say where he's heading next. How's that gonna help us?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. We need to find a more sustainable method to heal Dean first," A sharp glance muted Castiel's impending reply. "There is a way. And I know the angels won't like it. But it's the only chance we have."

"God, could you be more cryptic? Does this vagueness come with your wings or do they teach that in Angel-101?" Dean stood up straight now, arms folded across his chest, shivering in a slightly chilly breeze that had somehow found its way in through the front door when Anna had come into the room. A quick sideways glimpse out of the window showed leaden clouds building up in the western sky, trees bending sideways in the steadily increasing wind outside. '_Thunderstorm, perfect soundtrack for the Apocalypse.__'_

Anna's eyes found Dean's and then traveled downwards coming to rest on his chest. "We'll need to heal you before we go after Lucifer. And I think there is only one way to do it for now. It won't be a complete cure but it'll do for a while."

"Anna, no..." the alarmed undertone in Castiel's voice wasn't lost on Dean, yet he refrained from looking at the angel and instead cocked his eyebrow, waiting for Anna to explain. He felt his fingers dig deep furrows in his upper arms as he forcefully prevented himself from interrupting the female angel with another impatient remark. Low thunder in a distance was evidence of the storm slowly approaching.

"Dean, you still have your amulet, don't you?"

That question seemed so out of place, so unexpected, Dean's arms fell to his sides and his jaw dropped open. Gaping at Anna, his right hand snaked up to the small knob under his shirt between his pecs before his brain could stop it.

"The... uh. What? Random. Yeah, I still have it, why?" Protectively, he wrapped his fist around the cool, soothing, metallic presence sheltered from six prying eyes by faded jersey. Dean barely resisted the urge to turn around and hide Sam's Christmas present from the others.

Breathlessly, Bobby answered Dean's question in a whisper. "The twin-amulets. Of course. That'd do the trick." Urgency amplifying his voice, the older hunter turned to Dean, excitement and hope spreading across his face like a beautiful sunrise, vanquishing exertion and worry from it. "Where's the other one, Dean? Amy's amulet?"

Sour, stale guilt rose inside Dean. It all came back in one icy gush. All of it. The coma. The terror of going to hell. Of becoming a demon. Amy. They had intended to seek out her family but then time had run out and they had never gotten around to that. Dean had completely forgotten about the girl and her selfless, brave sacrifice. Funny, what dying and forty years in hell could do to you.

"Dean?" Bobby approached him cautiously and put one heavy hand on his shoulder, the sudden weight unbalancing the younger hunter and pulling him away from his troublesome memories. "Do you know where the other amulet is? You boys still have it, right?"

"I... uh. I dunno. I've never seen it after I came to. I think Amy still had it, probably been buried with it for all I know." His mind drowning in a tsunami of emotions and events, Dean had trouble focusing on the present.

Anna stepped closer to him, almost uncomfortably close. Yet, all the hunter yearned for now was to be left alone. Sleep. Relax. However, he was also aware that their time for catching up with Lucifer and figuring out a way to stop him from whatever he was doing was running out. Time to get him out of Sam. Save Sam. His mind snapped out of its loop of unpleasant images.

"We'd have to find out where Amy was buried and dig her up," insides churning with guilt, he went on hesitantly. "She must still have it. I've got no clue how to find it if she doesn't."

"I might." Bobby's hand fell from Dean's shoulder and the younger hunter almost regretted the sudden loss of comfort when Singer left the study almost too fast, apparently glad to get out. Dean's eyes still lingered by the door when Cas suddenly spoke.

"Anna, this is blasphemy, you know that. We can't go against our Father's commandments. _You shall have no other gods before me. _It goes against everything we love, everything we believe in. How can you even consider this?" The urgent plea hardly hid the terror in Castiel's voice.

"I believe in our Father. And I believe that he has provided means to fulfill his plans. This is the only way, Cas. The only one. Trust me. Have faith."

The angels' voices faded to background noise while Dean pondered the possibility of using the amulet again. With a pang he remembered how Sam had explained the amulets had only worked with one bearer sacrificing their energy, their life force, for the other. Cold sweat poured down his spine in annoyingly tickling rivulets causing him to shiver despite of the sticky air.

Amy had died. Died for him. That would mean someone else had to do the same thing again. _No. We are not going to make the same mistakes all over again._ His own hoarse voice echoed dully in his head.

"Stop. STOP." Both angels jerked around. In the course of their tense discussion, Anna and Castiel had come to stand facing each other close to the window, the dark clouds of the approaching storm and the setting sun bathed both human vessels in an eerie sulfuric light. Dean shivered again.

"We're not using the amulets even if we find the other one. And that's that." His flat voice hid his emotions better than Castiel's minutes ago.

"What? Why?" Anna frowned and cocked her head subconsciously mimicking her celestial brother. "We don't have another option!"

"Last time we did this, someone ... died and I'm not going to risk that again. I'm done with that. We'll have to find another way. I am NOT sacrificing an innocent person for my own health. End of discussion."

Castiel dropped his gaze, lost in thought. Anna gaped at the hunter, incapable of responding. The air in the room seemed to thicken even more, electricity prickled on the tips of the tiny hairs growing on Dean's arms. Lightning zigzagged across the darkening sky outside, cutting a deep scar into the bulging brown-gray clouds.

Heavy footsteps in the kitchen and Bobby's labored breathing broke the silence and the younger hunter let out a deep breath he had been holding.

"Found it." Bobby bustled past Dean and set the apparatus he had brought with him down on the desk.

The pendulum swung in the middle of the tripod, idly, harmlessly. A burning hot knot in the pit of his stomach, Dean opened his mouth again. "Bobby, no. We're not..."

Looking up, face set purposefully, the older man interrupted, "The hell we're not. I just went down to the basement, fought my way through a jungle of cobwebs, tools and old books just to get this up here." He pointed at the dust-covered pendulum lazily swinging on the desk, another lightning bolt gleamed in the glass globe on its top.

"We're doing this and there ain't squat you can do about it. Stop sacrificing yourself. You want Sam back and you wanna stop the Apocalypse, right?"

Dean only managed to open his mouth before the older hunter went on regardless. "We need to get you your strength back. I ain't watchin' you gettin' the celestial jump-start every eight hours. What if you need a refill when we're fightin' Lucifer!? Not gonna happen! So, suck it up, son!" Bobby peered at the younger man, blue eyes hard as steel, mouth drawn almost into a snarl. _You're playin' wounded._ A twelve month old whisper wormed its way into Dean's mind.

All his fight seemed to leave Dean instantly. He deflated, shoulders dropping, let his head hang low and broke eye contact with the older man. From beneath his lashes he watched as Castiel attempted to protest but flinched when Anna put her foot down hard on her sibling's.

"So, all we need is this map," Bobby continued unfolding the paper in his hands, glad he could finally return to business as usual. "And put it beneath the pendulum." Explaining rather to the angels than to Dean, Bobby carried on preparing for the ritual.

Dean sensed how his throat became coarse sandpaper, his breath brushing past dry flesh, grinding the evidence of life into it. Thoroughly erected walls crumbling, he was forced to witness the past leak out through expanding crevices and rifts, unstoppable, unbidden.

As if experiencing a pseudo-trip through time Dean felt like he was going back one year ..._forty-one years, time is different down there..._ emotionally, not physically. The race against the clock and the use of the scrying apparatus had stirred up memories carefully stored at back of his mind, way far back; but now they had returned with a vengeance. Sam's last desperate plea for Ruby's help. Their last goodbye. The hell hound. Hell.

The older Winchester shuddered and tried to hide his discomfort by sitting down on an armrest of the sofa feeling both Anna's and Castiel's eyes on him. He kept his gaze down, resorting to his well-practiced breathing routine. This time he subconsciously picked Metallica's _One_ and sensed his heart skip a beat when he recognized the beats he was counting. _...I can't remember anything … Can't tell if this is true or dream … Deep down inside I feel to scream … This terrible silence stops me..._

Bobby's monotonous chant echoed through the room, while thunder, lightning and storm gained strength outside. Dean's eyes were drawn toward the swinging, hypnotizing pendulum moving in increasingly smaller circles. Then, just when the last syllable of Bobby's incantation died away, it jerked to a stop with a dull _clunk_.

"That... that can't be right," lifting his cap and scratching the thinning hair on his head, Bobby took a step back and looked up at the angels and the other hunter. Anna stepped up to the desk and examined the location the apparatus had pointed out.

"Maybe it logged onto Dean's amulet instead of its twin," she offered.

Curious, Dean got up while Castiel kept his distance, almost as if he was afraid to be tainted. The hunter approached, eyes widening when he recognized what the pendulum was pointing at. "It's here? _Here_?"

"Gotta be wrong. How could it be here? The only plausible solution is that the thing found your amulet. I would know if... hold on." Bobby dashed from the study leaving the angels and Dean again, flabbergasted.

"I told you it was wrong. Obviously, the will of heaven is preventing us from using the blasphemous..."

"Oh, shut up, Cas." Anna turned on her heels to face the reluctant angel. "You know, there's a time when you have to decide for yourself. I told you last time you need to find your own way. This is your chance to do the right thing even if your superiors don't agree. Please, Castiel. You can't truly believe our Father would let Dean die. Would let Lucifer kill innocent people."

Straightening up, Castiel replied "This, Anna, is why you fell. This is disobedience. Do you want me to fall? Is that it? Why would I want to fall? Do you want me to betray my Father just because things get a little tense?" Castiel's voice boomed through the room like thunder his emotions finally obvious.

"A _little tense_?" Dean advanced on the male angel disbelievingly, exasperated anger scorching its way up his throat, past the vocal chords, burning along his tongue.

"Did you honestly just call the freakin' Apocalypse a _little tense_? People, good people are dying. Hunters, Cas. Humans who have always done their best to fight evil. The Devil is loose and you call this _a little tense_?" Castiel shrank back to the window sill, caught unawares by Dean's wrath.

"You saved me, Cas. Saved me from the pit to stop the Apocalypse and now that we're in the final lap you try to weasel your way out?" Stepping within an inch of the angel's reach, Dean forced himself not to punch the flat, motionless face in front of him. Slack, indifferent, Cas peered into Dean's eyes although the hunter thought he saw a spark of anger and hurt flicker in the angel's gaze.

"I am not weaseling my way out. This..." he pointed at the pendulum and Dean's amulet dangling on the hunter's chest, "this is not the right way. I cannot …"

"You know what, Cas? I've had it with you. I don't give a shit. You're just scared. A coward. All this year you come and warn me, tell me to stop Lilith, to fight and all that crap. But now you're just too scared to go on. I took you for a lot of things but it never once crossed my mind that you might be too much of a wuss to do what's right! Tell me, what're you afraid of, huh? How can things get even worse? Or do you secretly want us... what's the word... _mudmonkeys_, yeah... Do you want us mudmonkeys dead so you and your angel pals can happily strike your harps and sing chorals again without us filthy humans butting in every so often? Are you _that_ jealous of us?"

Catching his breath, Dean fell silent, eyes never leaving the angel's face. Castiel remained silent. "One more thing though. You angels aren't supposed to feel, right? So why is it that each and every thing you guys do is 'cause you're either scared witless or jealous? You're no better than us!" Turning around, indifferent about any possible rebuke, Dean headed for the kitchen. He needed a beer. Now.

Downing a whole bottle he tried to wash away the residual bitter words still dangerously close to slipping off his tongue. Out of the corner of his eyes Dean watched as both angels remained on their respective spots, unmoving, silent. _Friggin' marble statues. Dammit. _He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, clearing away beer and bitterness.

****

"Here, got it, finally." Bobby's voice brought Dean back to his surroundings and he was surprised to find the older man already hunkering over a large piece of paper, Anna next to him, looking over his shoulder and even Castiel had approached the desk, mild interest mingled with apprehension in his features. '_How did I miss him walk past me?'_ Wiping the harbingers of sleep from his eyes, Dean got up from the chair and cleared away the three empty beer bottles whose contents had magically vanished over the last fifteen minutes. Feeling a little light-headed, due to lack of sleep rather than alcohol, he moved cautiously around the kitchen, stalling for the impending moment of revelation. Once he would see what the older man had produced from whichever hidden room in his labyrinth of a house, there would be another discussion. He was sick of talking. Time was running out and Sam was still possessed by the Devil, forced to witness gruesome murders of their fellow hunters while all they did was arguing religion.

Dean finally sighed and turned around to face the others. Three pairs of eyes greeted him with very different emotions. Bobby examined him for any evidence of weakness and at the same time his eyes seemed to burst with excitement at the prospect of finding the missing amulet and therefore finding a cure for Dean.

Anna watched him expectantly, also searching for signs of pain or distress but her eyes also held a hint of tenderness as they brushed over his face. A small smile lightened her features when Dean drew closer to the group huddled around the cluttered desk.

Only Castiel's eyes seemed fearful and reluctant, Dean noted, as the angel was too slow to hide these emotions from his charge.

"Got what, Bobby?"

"The blueprint of my house. We'll use it to see what the pendulum's locked on to exactly." Smiling brightly like a child with a new toy the older man turned back to apparatus preparing it for its next task.

Intrigued against his own will, Dean stepped closer to get a better view of the crumpled paper. Sure enough, it showed the house and the surrounding land, only there were no car wrecks or tool sheds drawn on it. On the contrary, someone had crayoned flower beds in different colors, various trees, a patio, stone paths, a small pond and a huge lawn around the house. Dean realized this must have been the original blueprint of the Singer premises and none other than his late wife had added the sketching of her garden to complete their happy home. He felt like trespassing into Bobby's past. Pondering how much it must cost the older man to look at the sketches of a future-never-to-be, Dean fell silent, listening to Singer's sonorous incantation.

Clearing his throat, the younger hunter waited until Bobby had finished his chant expecting to find the tip of the pendulum to point to the study which was labeled "Dining Room" on the thin paper. However, when he bent over the table the younger man noticed the pendulum was stuck to a place at the far corner of the garden, a section called "playground". Looking up and straight into Bobby's eyes he saw a shadow pass over them but as quickly as it came it vanished and was replaced by triumph.

"So it _is_ here! Wait a minute. That must be... Yes! That's were Sam used to hide as a kid. Dean, you remember these two Mustangs lying on their roofs?"

His heart beating like a base drum against his ribs, Dean straightened up and nodded wordlessly. How many times had he found his shaggy baby bro hiding under the canopy those two muscle cars provided? Two trucks had formed the walls and the Mustangs had fallen right on top of them sheltering the ground below from rain and wind. Sammy had hauled all kinds of things into that hide-out. Food, pencils and paper, a collection of stones in weird shapes and unusual colors, photos of their family, books, a slingshot and many more items whose value only eight-year-olds truly could appreciate.

"So, you think he hid the amulet in there?" Dean's gaze clouded over, memories of his childhood now emerging behind his eyes.

"He went back there again last year after you... after we buried you. Used to hang out there for hours. It's a possibility." Dean had picked up on the slip of the tongue quicker than he would have liked. His mind busily filled the gap. _After you died. _

"Well," Anna interrupted," what are we waiting for? Let's go and find it so we can get this over with and start hunting Lucifer!"

Pulling both hunters back from sad memories, Anna walked through the door and into the hallway not wasting another glance on the three men staying behind. As if an inaudible whistle had been blown all of them turned and hurried after the female angel, Castiel bringing up the rear while Dean hastened to catch up with Anna.

On the porch, Dean finally closed up on her and snatched her right arm to hold her back. She whirled around, wrestling her limb from Dean's grip. "What? What now?"

Dean shivered unsure whether it was from the cold wind or Anna's defiant, menacing stare. He swallowed and struggled to keep his fear out of his voice. "We need to talk this through first, Anna." Disgusted with his own words he fell silent.

"What's the problem, Dean? We found it, we use it. And then we go after Lucifer." Anna's jaw muscles twitched with determination.

Dean frowned at the sarcasm oozing from Anna's words when she went on, "We're not wasting any more of our precious time with fruitless discussions. I just have to accept the fact that neither of you really appreciates how urgent this whole amulet issue is. Neither you nor Cas. If we don't use it, you die. You hear me, Dean? YOU DIE. And I am not willing to risk that. You're our only hope, our only weapon against Lucifer. How're we supposed to stop him if you bite it just because you think you don't deserve being rescued, Dean? This isn't about you! This is about every human being on this planet, every family."

Dumbstruck by the sudden gush of raw emotions, Dean ogled Anna for a few heartbeats letting Bobby and Cas pass them, before he answered.

"I just... I still believe there has to be another option, Anna. I can't … I don't wanna … I don't want anyone sacrifice their life for me again. Why does it always have to be like this?"

"It's destiny, it's been long foretold, Dean." Castiel's silent, almost pitying tone pulled the hunter's attention to the trench coated figure looming in the half light on the edge of the porch, face averted, shoulders dropped.

"Oh, so now you're suddenly okay with this, Cas? Screw destiny! I'm not doing this because some weirdo, drunken prophet had a few visions 2000 years ago. I have a mind of my own, dammit. I decide what I wanna do and what not. Nothing's set in stone!"

Sudden, earsplitting thunder tumbled around the junkyard, cutting off every possible continuation of the discussion, crashing into the manifold automobile corpses, increasing in volume until it peaked in a crescendo of auditive agony. Dean's hands flew to his ears while his shoulders hunched upwards in a protective reflex. Looking around from half closed eyes he saw Bobby in a similar stance while the angels both craned their heads to peer into the leaden sky up above, seemingly unperturbed by the sensual onslaught. The older Winchester's eardrums vibrated uncomfortably, every bone in his body amplified the low rumble. It took all his strength not to squeeze his eyes shut in a reflexive, childlike manner. He tried to say something just to check if his ears had effectively survived the sudden attack unharmed. Just to hear his own voice, anything but the earthen, animalistic sound of the force of nature unraveled.

Just when the thunder slowly ebbed away, heavy raindrops began tapping a staccato rhythm onto the wooden roof over their heads, quickly gaining velocity and finally morphing into the sound of a deafening waterfall. Steam clouds rose from the hot, gravelly ground between the car wrecks, billowing skywards, shrouding the piles of metallic skeletons in a thin veil of fog.

"If it rains, it pours," murmuring softly to himself, Dean withdrew his hands from his ears and straightened up, squinting, annoyed when a bright white bolt of lightning zigzagged across the junkyard, reflected in innumerable rear view mirrors and windshields. Another thunderclap rattled the building and Dean felt trepidation creeping up his spine with icy fingers.

"Okay, let's do this," Bobby's gruff tone broke the spell. "Any time's as good as now." Pulling his collar up so far it nearly touched the seam of his grimy cap, the older hunter huffed and stomped off into the gushing rain.

Dean grabbed his amulet swinging safely beneath his tee with one hand, jersey separating skin from metal, while the other one pulled his button-down shirt closer together at his throat in a fruitless effort to shelter his bare skin from the downpour threatening to drown all Ford's and GM's creations. He scowled at the angels' backs and followed Bobby. The hairs on the back of his neck would have stood up if the rain hadn't plastered them to the back of his skull instantly. He felt the angels following him on a subconscious level that made him jumpier than he would ever admit to. Scowling again, he rolled his shoulders and ground his teeth against an exasperated yell when the movement caused his clammy left hand to lose the grip on his already soaked through shirt. '_Ah, what the hell! What's the point in fighting nature, anyway? I'm fighting destiny and friggin' God's plan already. Gotta draw the line somewhere...'_

Lowered head, hands now both dangling at his hips, squinting through the rain and the occasional lightning, running as fast as he dared without slipping in a puddle, he rushed after Singer who had already turned into another aisle and vanished from sight. The only upside of the monsoon-like quality of the rain was that he didn't feel every single droplet trickling down his back and front. The water simply drenched him like one cool shower.A fully clad shower at that. His clothes stuck to his skin like uncomfortably wet and heavy armor, slowing him down a little on his chase after Bobby.

Lost in thought, he looked up occasionally to get his bearings and hurried on. _'Feels like a freakin' walk down memory lane. Dude, this sucks.' _His mind snapped back to uncountable times he had run down these ancient rows and piles of rusty wrecks searching for Sammy. Or more recently, to smash the Impala, get his ass kicked verbally by Bobby for making the terrible deal, or last winter when he had ended up leaning against the hood of a car next to Anna. _'Good times!' _

"Holy crap!" Dean could hardly keep himself from bumping into Bobby's grease smeared, jean clad back when he rounded the next two story high pile of junk cars.

"Watch where you're goin', would ya?" The older man's voice didn't sound nearly as annoyed as the words would have let on. His tone was flat and emotionless. Bobby didn't even turn around to see who almost knocked him off his feet but simply stood there, eyes fixed on a huge tire of a prehistoric truck. Weeds were growing around it and a small birch tree had found a home on the tread. Quite a few fall storms must have blown the small hill of decaying leaves into one corner and provided enough nutrition for the sapling to grow there.

"There. See it?" Bobby held out one hand indicating the enormous wheel house of the rusting dinosaur. Dean blinked away a few stray raindrops that had found their way to his lashes and bent forward to follow Bobby's finger with his eyes. Without realizing it, his right hand again snaked protectively around his amulet. A small wooden box with hardly legible inscriptions sat on the run down tire pattern. If it weren't for the silvery lock gleaming in the lightning over their heads the box would have been easily overlooked in the gloom enveloping the two humans.

"Bobby? You think this is the right thing to do? I mean, really? What if something goes sideways? And who's gonna wear it?"

"I am." Anna's temperate voice drifted through the splattering rain as if she was chit-chatting over a cup of coffee. Dean rounded on his heels so fast Bobby was doused in a spray of tiny droplets.

"What? No, you're _not_!"

"Who else should do it then, Dean? I can afford the risk. Angels aren't that easily killed, you know. And it might actually work better than with a human." Quickly, Anna pushed past Dean trying to block her way and slinked around Bobby to grab the box.

"Stop, Anna! Let's talk this through one more time." Disgust tasted bitterly on his tongue at the obvious plea in his words.

"Geez, boy. You're beginnin' to sound a lot like Sam. I always thought you're more the shoot first and ask questions later kinda guy," Bobby could hardly hide the chuckle in his voice but quickly sobered up once he saw the menacing look Dean shot him. "Anyhow. I'm just sayin' we're runnin' outa options and I agree with the girl. We could definitely need a little more than a miracle. So why not try this and see where it gets us?"

Anna had already opened the rectangular curse box and Amy's amulet lay innocently on her palm. She looked at it curiously, indifferent to the conversation going on around her. A soft surge of otherworldly energy pulled at her Grace, goosebumps erupted on her back, prickling along her spine. Slowly, gently she lifted her hand, weighed the small pendant, measuring its power. _Yes, this would work._ Convinced, Anna slid the golden chain over her head and gasped when the amulet dangled between her breasts. Cold and hot at the same time, the female angel sensed how the deity ruling the artifact fought her own power. She closed her eyes to focus and control the clash of divine influence coursing through her. Faintly, Anna noticed strong arms grabbing hold of her, supporting her, while all she could do was to struggle to remain upright. Her Grace trembled, striking out against the other energy inside her and finally swallowed it, incorporating the additional force, molding it, shaping it into something new. A tugging sensation on the edges of her consciousness tied her attention to it. Warm, compassionate and worried. She forced her leaden eyelids open and found herself looking directly into Dean's eyes. Her right hand, locked around the amulet in a tight spastic fist sent hot stabs of pain through her arm and up to her brain. A whimper slipped from her contorted lips but Anna remained standing, rooted to the spot, incapable of moving at all.

**

* * *

End Notes**

Also, I wanna preempt those of you guys who might think I am stealing from the current season. I swear I have had the plot outlined in May. My beta will stand witness to that. I already have to think about changing the showdown as it is very close to the current season's arc... I hope I am not angering anyone of you fine people. I have thought about stopping this story on many occasions especially after 5.02. I'm gonna try and see how this chappie turns out to resonate with the audience and then decide on going on with it or not... thanks again for staying with me this long and all the wonderful reviews I have received so far. Please lemme know if the story is still worth being told.


	8. Bleeding Guilt

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Castiel, Anna  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter: **8/?, Bleeding Guilt  
**Warnings: **Accidental spoilers for some concepts used in season 5

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.

**Summary: **Sequel to **Links **

_Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways... _

**"So, you really think you could do it? Kill me? Kill _Sammy_?"**

_(follows mostly canon up to 4.21; after that AU)_**  
**

**A/N I: Hurt Dean, guilt-ridden Sam. **Lots of **angst** and graphic **torment** (for both, mental and physical), for some harsh language and gory action **rated M.**

**A/N II:** Please note, that this story may contain occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no** time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious , I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.

**A/N III: **Once again my heart goes out to** Cal **aka **graceofgod **for her patience, her beta'ing and simply for being such an AWESOME friend!

* * *

_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

Chapter 08: Bleeding Guilt

"...In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace..."  
~Ephesians 1:7~

"...And when ye spread forth your hands, I will hide mine eyes from you: yea, when ye make many prayers, I will not hear: your hands are full of blood."  
~Isaiah 1:15~

Dean held her, afraid to let go but fighting the urge to do so nevertheless. He squinted against the bright, piercingly white light blazing from her eyes. The memory of Anna regaining her Grace snaked around the edges of his memory, threatening to overcome him and scare him away from her and he struggled to remain in place. Yet, a familiar feeling had taken hold of him; comfort and proximity on a subconscious, purely emotional level. The instant he had grabbed her arms to steady her shaking, twitching body after the amulet had settled on her chest, after his own amulet had burned white hot for the blink of an eye, the hunter had felt the angel's battle for control, her fear, her pain, her faith and her strong will as if they were his own.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the shock waves wracking Anna's body abated and after another seemingly endless minute, the celestial light twinkled and then faded like a snuffed candle. The sudden dead weight of her unconscious body tore at Dean's protesting biceps, his shoulders screamed in their joints and he fought hard to keep her from falling down to the ground in a boneless heap. Bobby, by now standing right beside him, jumped in to help in a combined effort, they managed to lift her up, balance the load and allow Dean to carry the angel back to the house. Worry over Anna's well-being lashed out at Dean's conscience and threatened to crush his guilt-stricken heart. Summoning up the remnants of his quickly depleting self control, the older Winchester pushed the unsettling emotions to the back of his mind, carefully storing them inside his own special set of curseboxes for now and hurried on.

Castiel followed the hunters and their load silently. None of the others saw the inconsolable sadness marring the angel's features while the three men hurried through the pouring rain.

***

_He was lying on a soft bed, fully clothed, eyes closed. The sound of the shower in the bathroom created a drowsy, fuzzy feeling of normality. He allowed himself to breathe deeply, relaxing for the first time over the last days. Home. He was home. Almost drifting into a half-dozing state, he frowned irritably when a small, wet and warm something dripped on his forehead. He wiped at the odd, warm stickiness. Opening his eyes to slits he looked at the rust-colored tip of his forefinger. Blood. Eyes widening in deep shock his head jerked up to the ceiling, the presumed origin of the stain. A blood-red leer grinned down at him. Jessica was plastered to the white ceiling, legs and arms pinned down at awkward angles and her mouth stood open as if frozen mid-scream. He heard himself yell and felt Dean's arms pull him out of the room, all the time incapable of breaking eye contact with his future enveloped and devoured by flames, her eyes accusing him of neglect, charging him with treason._

_No! _

He jerked awake instantly, the scream following him from the dream and echoing dully around him. The chains tying him to his body's prison forced him back down. Skin drenched in cold sweat, shivering and trembling from the nightmare he licked his parched lips, yearning for (_...blood...)_ water to quench the overwhelming thirst threatening to rob him of his remaining senses, desperate to extinguish the fire consuming his heart. The burning loss of his love.

Huffing and puffing, he tried to catch his breath and take control of his tingling nerves forcing his muscles to cramp excruciatingly. His body arched, his spine howled in agony. He shuddered. A whimper tumbled from his quivering lips and Sam swallowed dryly around his oddly overgrown tongue. Panic shivered through and he hugged himself desperate for comfort and safety.

Slowly, his tormented mind caught up with him._ No body. No thirst. No pain. Not real. Hallucinating._ The dichotomy between sensual perception and reality tore at his sanity, nearly breaking him. Until he remembered.

Remembered his plan.

Exhausted and worn out, he pushed himself up into a half-sitting position, chains rattling with the movement. Breathing audibly, massaging his temples with his fingers, Sam used the eyes Lucifer had hijacked along with his body to find out where he.... _they_ were. But all he could make out was the dark, lonely road up ahead, his own face lit by an eerie half light and contorted into an evil grin in the rear view mirror.

"I see you're up. Good, had me worried there for a while, Sammy. Must've been quite some nightmare you had. Freddy make an appearance? Freddy is fun. Although, I must say I prefer Jason. What about you? What's your favorite horror flick maniac?"

_'Oh, will you ever shut the fuck up.'_ He didn't yell it. The words were a mere hopeless plea.

"Why, Sammy! I'm appalled. So rude." He tsk'ed amusedly and went on, "You gotta be a little more patient, pal. Such a short temper. And there was I thinking Dean was the belligerent one. But he has proven his persistence, y'know. Downstairs? My children know how to treat human souls, trust me. Especially Alastair. He was one hell of an interrogator. But Dean stood his ground, at least for more than three decades. And he was worse off! Imagine, on top of all those evil verbal taunts, having your skin, muscles and sinews peeled from your bones, inch by inch on a daily basis. That's gotta hurt! And of course, your daddy held out even longer than your big bro. Guess you take after your mom then. But, oh, no. I forgot she was a hunter, too. Well Sammy, you may just be a wussy then." Chuckling to himself, the Devil returned his attention to the highway and fell silent. The grin, a heartless, wintry crescent, never wavering nor waning, chilled Sam to down to his soul.

He closed his eyes. Horrible, nauseating images of Dean and his father being graphically tortured in hell reeled off behind his eyelids. He grimaced as another shiver ran through his body, his muscles twitched in quick succession and he felt his stomach take a somersault. The world tilted sideways and Sam found himself on his knees, dry-heaving. _What the hell?_ Swallowing hard, wincing when his tongue rasped along dry gums, he coughed hard, white-hot stabs piercing his lungs. Cold sweat beaded his forehead, his bones had been replaced by blistering charcoal burning its way from the inside out. The restraints pulled painfully at his joints, burying themselves once more deep into imaginary flesh. The agonizing tremors of withdrawal however topped that sensation and forced it back into unimportant background noise. Disoriented, Sam tried to persuade his consciousness into believing he had no body to hurt and that this pain was simply a figment of his own junkie mind. Still, his addiction rode his rationality hard, drowning Sam's desperate attempts to regain control in agony. Even more so, on some sadistic level his mind welcomed the mental torture as justified punishment for his horrendous mistake of killing Lilith. He deserved to be alone, to be in pain. He deserved to die.

Sam curled in on himself, a shuddering, trembling knot of nothing.

***

_Blood. It was everywhere. The floorboards were sprinkled with irregular dark-red splatter patterns alternating with scratch marks made by invisible paws adorned with razor-sharp claws. Desperate, pain-stricken screams echoed all around the dining room. A harsh _crack_ indicated snapping bones; gnashing, vicious, jaws ripped huge chunks of meat out of Dean's side; leaving an angry red gaping wound behind. Gurgling desperate sobs tore at his heart. Nailed to the wall by unseen hands, immovable, helpless, he was forced to witness his brother being torn to shreds. He never felt his own tears streaming down his cheeks, strangely mesmerized by his sibling's battle against the inevitable. All that blood!_

_Dean! _

Pain pierced through his skull as if a samurai was twirling his sword, slicing through bone and soft tissue effortlessly. The blade came to rest deep down in his brain and turned into a red hot lump of molten steel, pulsating in tune with his heartbeat. Sam had trouble breathing as his lungs seemed to have folded in on themselves, offering not even the tiniest bit of capacity to force oxygen into them. Mouth working hard, lips drawn back tight over hollowed jaws in an agonized leer, he attempted to swallow fresh air only to find out he couldn't keep it in. His chest burned and an iron band seemed cast around it, squeezing his ribcage in a bone-breaking embrace, his heartbeat sped up as if the organ tried to escape the fatal vice closing around it. Again, he opened his mouth. This time to yell but no air passed his vocal cords and then, finally, panic, held at bay for this long by mere stubbornness, coursed through him, stampeding every remaining rational thought.

It took him a few desperate heartbeats until it dawned on the tormented hunter that he was again hallucinating. Even as memory hit him he struggled against the urge to breathe for few more seconds. Finally, his troubled psyche caught up with reality, his brain stopped following its prime directive of controlling vital functions of a body that wasn't his anymore.

Relief flooded his presence, soothing tremors to a minimum of shivering. The vision of Dean lying in his blood however wasn't as easy to get rid of. Once the spasms had subsided it emerged from the maelstrom of painful memories and swam to the front of his mind and Sam found himself feeling lonelier than before. He needed to contact his brother. If he was still alive. The look of utter despair and betrayal on Dean's face when Lucifer had twisted the knife jumped Sam so unexpectedly he almost lost control again. _Focus. _Pushing hard against another panic attack, Sam finally mastered his emotions by bringing order to the chaos filling his soul. It was the only strategy the hunter could call on now. Pros and cons. Fact checking. Rational analysis. It worked as well now as it always had.

He had to know what Lucifer was up to. He had killed two guardians. Sam wracked his brains to find a hint about Lucifer's agenda. Why the gates? Why these gates? He could just open them and free his kids, couldn't he? So why didn't he?

Sam sighed in defeat. He needed to find out about his captor's plan from the Devil himself. Only then would contacting Dean - _oh please, be alive, I'm sorry -_ make any sense at all. That in turn meant he had to bide his time and maybe even trick the Devil into giving away some of his reasons which implied additional verbal abuse. Sam sighed inwardly.

Focusing his attention outwards, the younger Winchester registered the sky had begun to turn gray in the east, the rough direction they were heading. His gaze quickly brushed over some of the deserted scenery. Rocks, small bushes, the occasional trees and sand. The proverbial prairie, Sam almost expected to see a westward-bound trek of wagons crossing their path. Eventually, his eyes found Lucifer's in the mirror again and he grinned a wry smile knowing the Devil would feel it.

"You ever thought about going to a shrink about your nightmares? I wonder what ole Siggi would make of 'em. Bet it's all bottled up anger, sibling rivalry and some kind of twisted oedipal desire to gouge out your father's eyes instead of your own for letting your mommy die. You Winchesters do have some big daddy issues, you know."

Sam closed his eyes against the renewed sarcasm, counting his heartbeat.

_'This is getting boring. Why don't you try changing the record for once? And talk about daddy issues. Your dad kicked your fugly ass outta paradise.' _Surprised how much his own voice sounded like Dean's, Sam felt a little better. Even if his sibling was nowhere near him the memory of his smartass remarks lifted some of the crushing weight of guilt on his soul, restored some of the fight he had lost over the last forty-eight hours.

"Touché. But maybe that's why I get you, Sam. Maybe, on some level we both are alike. I mean, I only have to look at myself and see the similarities, same eyes, same hair, same mouth, same dimples. I bet you really have a shot with the ladies, kiddo. Both our dads kicked us out when we started thinking for ourselves. And we both share a desire for blood and killing, don't we? We could practically be twins!"

_'Desire for killing, huh? Well, why don't you just set your hell bitch kids free and scorch the earth? Why this stupid roadtrip when you could've already killed off half the American population?'_

"Oh, but this is so much more fun! Think of this as the prelude to the apocalypse, Sammy. And foreplay is so important if you're aiming for a result that satisfies both sides. Has Dean never taught you that? No wonder he got all the action."

Stopping short of rolling his eyes at Lucifer, Sam took a deep breath and forced his clenched fists apart. Then it hit him and despair burgeoned in his heart. _**Got**__ all the action? Oh, nonononono. Focus, Sammy! _His brother's deep growl filled his mind, a shaky gasp escaped him and he smiled gratefully.

_'So, there are more gates ahead of us, huh?' _Careful to let Lucifer feel an echo of his fear in his presence, Sam held his breath, tense as to what the Devil would reply.

Lucifer remained his usual chatty self, and plowed on happily, enjoying the possibility of piling more guilt and angst on his host's soul. "Sure, just a few more. Three to be precise. And trust me when I say, they're gonna be the most entertaining ones. It's all leading towards a Grand Finale. Think High Noon. Think Armageddon, just not Affleck and Willis or Cooper and MacDonald. The real deal. This is the end, my friend!" Lucifer kept bragging on about his own grandeur and how Bruce would make a great meatsuit, culminating in his very own performance of Jim Morrison's haunting lyrics.

Exhaustion and withdrawal crept back into Sam's presence. He decided to rest for a little while to beat the tremors and cramps to the punch. Losing his control would mean to risk blowing his cover. Slowing, Lucifer's voice faded to indiscernible murmur and Sam slipped into another round of fitful sleep.

***

_His mouth closed over the small, ruby-red line of salty liquid in a greedy kiss, lips caressing her tender skin. She shivered with delight when he sucked hard, savoring the tingling, prickling sensation when her blood pooled at the back of his mouth. Energy flooded his whole system instantly, mightier than any adrenaline rush he had ever experienced. Power beyond human knowledge filled every living cell of his body. Invincible. _

_Ruby..._ her name a soft whisper tumbling from dry lips, Sam awoke from his dream feeling guiltier than ever. He had relished this dream even though the memory of betrayal had stained the experience. _I wonder where she is. Cowardly little slut. _A spasm interrupted his vengeful musings unexpectedly and he felt himself yearning for the powerful, rich taste of demonic blood running through his system. No weakness. No second thoughts. A wave of nausea rivaled with the omnipresent shivers for his attention. His stomach churned and the cramps quickly merged with the omnipresent withdrawal spasms until he couldn't bear it anymore and oblivion took him in her warm, comforting embrace again. Lucifer's amused, satisfied chuckle wafted around his slowly graying awareness.

_The blood poured from the gash in the host's carotid in a steady, thick flow. Pulsating, rich life-force, fresh and deep red. His body leaned toward it, ready to devour. An urge impossible to resist, strung out as he was. His inner desert yearned for an overdue crimson monsoon. _

_But Dean was just on the other side of the room. No, he had to be strong. _

_How, when at the same time he felt weaker than he ever had? _

_The constantly welling fountain of rejuvenating blood drew his mouth closer to the wound. Justifying his overwhelming urge to lower his mouth down to the warm, soft moisture, he argued that he had to save Jimmy and his family. To stop Lilith. It was the right thing to do. _

_Even before his mind had finished its pleading, his mouth had found a verdict and sank into the alluring gash in the host's throat. Blood sputtered into his waiting, dry mouth, bathing his tongue in liquid force, washing doubts away in one replenishing gush of power. All he could do was to swallow it down in long, grateful gulps. Drinking it in, he knew it was the right thing to do. It was _his_ job, _his_ destiny. He straightened up, towering over the host feeling strong and in control for the first time in weeks. Turning around, Dean's stunned stare hit him square in the face. He shoved it aside mentally, anger bubbling just beneath his seemingly calm and determined surface. Lifted his hand – ignoring his heart breaking when Dean flinched away from him, shock and ..._fear ?_… in his wide eyes - and snuffed out the demon possessing Jimmy's wife effortlessly. _

"Hey, Sammy. We're here. Wake up! We got a job to do!"

On the brink of wakefulness, Sam reacted to the familiar voice reflexively._ 'Large one, milk, sugar, topped off with Tylenol. Dude, my head hurts.' _And then it hit him full force. The mental sledgehammer cleared away any residual drowsiness instantly and chased the vision of himself with a blood-smeared face to the dark edges of his mind, the places where the nightmares hid in everlasting shadows, waiting, biding their time.

Sam sat up gingerly, painfully aware of his sore wrists, ankles and the knotted muscles in his limbs. His mouth was dry again and a bitter-acrid, bile-like taste had embedded itself deeply in his taste buds. Even the slightest change of his posture, reverberated excruciatingly in his skull, like an icy, metallic marble bouncing off walls in a never-ending, nerve-wrecking staccato.

Flinching when the echo turned into a screeching cacophony, Sam sighed deeply and focused on Lucifer instead.

"Atta boy! Let's get busy then shall we? May I point out the beauty of the scenery? I just have to thank my Father for his creation. And how much more will I enjoy erasing it! See that trailer over there? That's where we're heading, now. You'll like our next customer, I betcha!" Moving in long, determined strides, Lucifer crossed the three hundred yards towards the home of the next guardian in no time.

_'Where are we?'_

"Oh, I'm surprised you don't know. All this time you sit around doin' nothing but wallow in self-pity and never once does it occur to you to use your brain. Think, Sam. Think real hard, it'll come to you."

Lucifer snorted derisively and quickened his pace but changed his direction slightly, circling around to the back of the mobile home up ahead. Obviously, he planned to take the hunter by surprise. Sam was intrigued against his will. He leaned in closer, hoping to pre-empt Lucifer's tactics and turn them to his advantage. Adrenaline pumped through him, ears buzzing with his rising blood-pressure. For some reason only known to the Devil himself, this guardian seemed to be more of a threat than the other two. Even if Jenna had been a little bit of trouble she would have never been able to defeat Lucifer, not even with that knife. Sam's mind dwelled on that thought for a moment. Ruby had a knife like that. A horrible flash of his hand twisting the hilt while it was buried in Dean's abdomen nearly extinguished his rational analysis but Sam forced it down, locked it away before it grew too powerful. So Jenna had a similar knife. Going back to that scene, Sam remembered markings on its blade. The events had happened so fast and he had been too occupied with overlaying memories of Jessica at the time to really notice them. But mental a snap-shot of the silvery blade glinting in the moonlight surfaced clearly from the vortex of haunting incidents. Yeah, there had been markings on it and it had hurt Lucifer. So how was it that there were two separate knives powerful enough to hurt demons or even the Devil? And how did a demon and a hunter come into possession of these mysterious tools?

"Hey, Sam. Snap out of it. I don't want you to miss the next act! It's gonna be interesting, believe me!"

Chuckling softly, Lucifer approached the back of the trailer and straightened up only as far as to look inside. The interior of the mobile home spoke of his inhabitant's needs and preferences. Beer bottles lined the window sill above the pantry kitchen, wrappings of burgers and fries littered the table. In one corner of the living room area, Sam noticed a footlocker with its lid open. A wide collection of knives and firearms, neatly arrayed, very reminiscent of the Impala's trunk. Sam smiled a little at that. Hunters truly were a little anal about their weapons. However, for good reason. Having your guns at the ready and working could decide over matters of life and death if push came to shove. The imprisoned Winchester prayed for this hunter's sake that he was as careful as Dean regarding weaponry maintenance.

"Oh, you bet he is Sammy. Just wait and see, pal." Lucifer's amused tone pulled Sam back from his observations and reminded him at the same time to guard his thoughts around his captor if he wanted his plans to succeed. Sam focused on Lucifer's proceedings once more. Tension twinged through the host body as if even the Devil knew his current opponent wasn't a person to misjudge or even underestimate. Sam was intrigued even more now.

Silently rounding the right corner of the trailer, Lucifer peered at the only door leading inside. So far, the guardian had been nowhere to be seen, Sam's heartbeat sped up mirroring the host body's reaction. No sound reached his ears, no movement caught his eye. The younger Winchester held his breath and began gnawing at his bottom lip. Lucifer froze mid-track and straightened up to Sam's full height.

_Snap-click. _The sound of a safety clip being removed, the trigger pulling backwards ready to hit the bullet waiting in the gun barrel.

Sam barely resisted the urge to turn around, knowing full well he would end up staring into the heavy darkness of his prison rather than the face of the guardian with his gun cocked and at the ready. Lucifer however, obviously felt no need to satisfy the Winchester's apprehensive curiosity and remained standing with his back to their assailant.

"Who. Are. You?" Every word a menace, growled out between clenched teeth. Even Sam felt a shiver of unease rippling his essence and Lucifer rolled his shoulders to discard the uncomfortable tension, vertebrae cracking loudly in his neck.

"Oh, you know who I am, Seth, don't you? You read the signs." Lucifer looked to his right almost turning halfway around but froze immediately when the muzzle touched Sam's brown, unruly strands.

"Who told you to move, Sasquatch? We wouldn't want your girly curls stained with brain matter, would we? What do you want? How do you know my name? Spill it!"

Sam gasped, eerie familiarity squeezed his heart, threatening to crush it.

"I told you, Seth. Think. But don't strain yourself, you might pull something..."

"You killed Walt and Jenna." Flat tone, forcefully held back wrath seeping through the words nevertheless. "That's why they're not answering my calls. You killed them, you evil son of a bitch!"

Lucifer laughed Sam's lighthearted, ringing laughter in answer to Seth's challenge and the imprisoned Winchester grimaced, beginning to detest the sound of his own voice.

"Who _are_ you? And what do you want?"

"Million dollar question, buddyboy. Wanna call someone? Ask the audience?" Lucifer remained with his back to the hunter and lifted his arms in a gesture of appeasement. "I think you have made the connection, Seth. Why don't we just cut the crap? I have two more appointments to keep."

The world tilted forward, Sam saw the dry, sandy ground come crashing at him and everything darkened around him. Disoriented he pulled at his restraints to see... _anything_.

And all of a sudden he was bathed in hazy morning light, blinding him after the thick darkness. Lying on his side, Lucifer rolled on his belly, pulled himself unto knees and hands and huffed. Sam sensed satanic wrath boiling in his possessed body, scorching his essence like acid. In the blink of an eye the Devil pulled his legs under himself and straightened up again, looking around to where his attacker had been standing seconds?... minutes?... an hour? before. Nothing. How had the hunter managed to knock Lucifer out even if for just a short amount of time?

"Where are you, Sethie?" His crooning, sugary voice belied the rage wreaking havoc inside the fallen angel. "C'mon. That was uncalled for. Hitting a stranger over the head is very unseemly especially when all I wanted was for you to fulfill your destiny."

A beam of light, too bright to look at it directly cut the clouds shrouding the sky, rumbling thunder its companion on its way to earth. The light grew stronger, wider, pierced through the humid, misty air over the deserted prairie like a fiery sword from heaven. The rumbling increased to an earsplitting feedback and Sam hurried to cover his ears. Finally the beam hit the roof of the trailer, welding a perfectly circular hole into the metal and filled the interior with an explosion of whiteness, bursting and breaking like an oceanic wave hitting a huge cliff. The brightness gushed out of the windows and to his surprise, Sam noticed how his body... his _real_ body shrank away from it.

***

_Pancakes. Definitely pancakes. _Dean's stomach was awake, rumbling audibly, even before his brains had made the connection with the familiar scent wafting through the dusty, book-cluttered room. Gradually slipping into wakefulness was the best way to start a day. Adding pancakes to it and would make it a perfect. Smiling to himself, he opened his eyes to tiny slits and squinted cautiously around. He moved his head a fraction, his neck protesting with a red-hot stab at the base of his skull, and snapped his head back in response to the pain, aggravating it even more and - sadly - instantly awake.

"So much for perfection," he growled annoyed. "Nuuhh. Damn."

Stiff from sleeping in the armchair next to the couch, he gingerly tried to relax the muscles that, obviously, weren't as easily persuaded into functioning as normal after being forced to rest at awkward angles for the night. He winced in pain when his spine joined in on the protest song his body was belting out. Massaging his neck with his right, he looked around the room, fully awake _and_ pissed off. Something was odd around here. What?

He closed his eyes again, pushing hard against unbidden memories, threatening to ruin an already sucking day completely. Yet, the nagging sensation at the back of his still hardly flexible neck persisted He caved and ventured another glance at the silent study.

His gaze brushed over the room, stopping at the couch. A bundle of blankets snuggled around an indefinable shape. From beneath them, long, glossy red strands of straight hair flowed like a coppery waterfall over the edge of the sofa. Anna.

Yesterday's events thrust themselves to the front of his mind. ´The amulet, the excruciating battle of divine supremacy within the angel, memory of carrying her unconscious form through the thunderstorm, getting drenched to the skin.

Lowering her down on the couch, he had hoped she would wake up soon after. However, the seemingly harmless act of slipping over a necklace with an admittedly powerful charm dangling from it, had obviously done more than knock her out temporarily.

Castiel had soon left after the three men had agreed that Anna possibly only needed sleep. Well, truth be told, Bobby and Dean agreed on that. They had simply lacked ideas on what to do about her almost comatose state and therefore, decided to let her sleep it off.

Castiel, however, had been oddly withdrawn, silent, even for an angel. And shortly after Bobby and Dean had settled with sitting with Anna in turns, the angel had excused himself and disappeared in his usual manner, leaving the older Winchester behind, his mouth hanging open, cut off mid sentence.

Grumpy and exhausted, he had tried to get a little shut-eye and left Singer with Anna. Guilt for Anna's mysterious Sleeping Beauty impersonation and hardly controllable worry over Sam had followed suit to keep him company. Sliding gratefully into bed after a long hot shower, Dean had hoped to find some rest. Only, after an hour of continuous tossing and turning, twisting the blanket suffocatingly around his body, he had yielded to fate. Once more.

Following his return to the ground floor, the exhausted hunter had brewed the strongest coffee ever and sat down to relieve the older man from his guard duty. Dean had watched her sleep, not fitful. Just sleep. She had moved around, sighed and dreamed. But despite that she wouldn't open her eyes. Roughly every thirty minutes, Dean had tried to wake her in vain. Anna had frowned, moaned and once even slapped him across the face, yet she had continued sleeping. The hunter had prepared himself for a long night but obviously, he had fallen asleep at some point before he even had been able to notify Bobby.

A dreamless, unperturbed sleep after... how many weeks? Or months? Frowning, he stopped counting at a little over a year – ignoring his stint in hell. Wincing at the unwanted images now raising their ugly faces to wish him a _Good morning!,_ he tried to busy his meandering thoughts with less painful memories. In vain. Jumping randomly to the next pressing issue, his mind chose to dwell on their current situation and the troubling lack of countermeasures. Then to Sam.

Exasperated with himself he changed track again. Considering Lucifer was on the loose and the apocalypse was at hand, his ability of sleeping truly was an achievement and a rare treat. Dean doubted he would call himself that lucky again in the near future.

A rustle of canvas against bare skin pulled his attention toward Anna. She had turned around facing him, the blankets barely covered her body anymore. Still asleep, she had kicked them down to one end of her improvised bed. Dean's weary eyes immediately locked onto the glinting amulet, dangling idly over the side of the couch; its reflection in the morning sun painted a flickering light fairy on the ceiling.

"Anna?"

A small, sleeping frown answered him.

"Hey, Anna. Wake up." Rising out of the armchair, Dean cursed his aching body ten ways from Sunday and knelt beside the sleeping angel. His knees joined the choir of his other body parts promptly, yet he remained hunkered down by Anna's sleeping figure. Dean resisted the urge to touch her, the memory of the blinding light coming from her eyes still too vivid, and instead peered intently into her slack face. Her lips were slightly parted, every tension normally residing in her features seemed gone. The concept of sleeping angels had never even occurred to him. _Angels are watching you._ The ghost of his mother's assertion brushed over his soul. Dean sighed again and wiped his right hand over his face, trying to clear residual sleep and melancholic memories away. This whole business was way beyond his pay grade. Hefting his eyes on Anna again, he decided to retry his luck and cringed inwardly at the obvious plea in his voice. "Anna, come on. Wake up."

"I tried that. She ain't wakin' up, boy. Want breakfast?" Bobby stood silently in the door frame and watched the younger man expectantly, the frying pan in his hand sizzling with another round of mouth-watering pancakes.

Dean's stomach rumbled again, demanding to be fed. ASAP. Straightening up, the younger man shrugged and turned around to join Bobby when he felt a tug at his jeans. He froze in his tracks and looked down along his legs. A pallid, slim hand had fisted the fabric. His eyes flew to Anna's face, grinning when a pair of hazel ones blinked lazily back at him. Her face lit up, mirroring his smile.

"Mornin'," she yawned, letting go of Dean's jeans and stretching her arms up high above her head.

"Hey, good to have you back!" Smirking lopsidedly, Dean turned around to the older hunter who had obviously been dumbstruck by the sudden, unexpected change in Anna's condition. "Bobby, 'bout those pancakes..."

"Huh?" Looking at Dean, the Singer blinked several times before his mind caught up with him. "Um... oh, yeah. Coffee's ready, too. I… uh, I'll jus' get back to fryin' some more of them things..." Still flabbergasted, Bobby offered a half-grin, indicated the pan he was holding to Anna and continued, "You okay? Want some? I've got a pile of 'em sitting on the table and even that idjit boy couldn't get all'a this down his piehole."

Anna nodded, started to pull herself into a sitting position when a dizzy spell caught her off guard and she grabbed the back of the couch to steady herself. Looking around to the two men, she was glad to see both of them had turned their backs on her offering her privacy to get ready for breakfast.

Feeling shaky and drained even after the long hours of sleep, Anna cautiously snatched up one of her boots to put it on. Sleep. That bothered her more than anything else. Angels were _not_ supposed to rest, no matter what. Angels were the guardians of sleep. Always alert, protecting the innocents as well as the wrongdoers. Yet, somehow she had slept. For a whole night.

Bending down to grab the other boot, the amulet, previously entangled with one of the blankets, pulled free and dangled playfully into her line of sight. Anna frowned and let go of the footwear to clutch at the glittering charm. A spike of electricity surged up her nerve tracks and into her brain, exploding glaringly behind her eyes. She gasped, looking around at the two hunters again and, instantly, let go of the powerful amulet. Still wincing, she welcomed the gradually abating agony.

_'Maybe Cas was right. Maybe I shouldn't have meddled with this. But what other option did we have? It was either letting Dean die or risk it. My health against the lives of millions of my Father's most treasured creation? No contest.' _

Jaws set determinedly, she recommenced putting on her other boot. She wasn't hungry. Not really. And she shouldn't be. Since she had regained her Grace, food had stopped being a necessity. But Anna knew she would need to sit down soon again after getting up from the worn out sofa. Ending up passed out on the kitchen floor instead of sitting on the chair was no option. Besides, it would completely freak the hunters out if they knew how weak she was truly feeling.

Anna imagined Dean's guilt-ridden stare, the look in his eyes she had seen in the junkyard that night, six months ago. He had been broken. Still was. But piling additional guilt on the already strained hunter's mind would mean adding fuel to the flames devouring the man's soul. He had enough to worry about with Sam being at Lucifer's mercy. No. She'd do her best to keep her issues to herself.

Pondering her condition, Anna gingerly got to her feet, grabbing the back of the armchair next to her. Once she was certain the world wouldn't turn into a merry-go-round, the angel carefully directed her feet to the kitchen and thanked her Father wholeheartedly when her backside sank onto the wooden chair.

Bobby busied himself at the cooker, while Dean cocked an eyebrow questioningly, mouth stuffed with his doughy breakfast, offering her the pitiful remainder of the delicious pancakes. She shrugged, not really caring for food. However, she had a nagging feeling she would need the strength and piled the last three squishy, battered griddlecakes onto her plate.

Speaking around the sweet, syrup-laden mass in his mouth, Dean encouraged Anna to "Tuck in. Vey're goog."

The female angel smiled wryly. "I can see that." She ogled her plate listlessly and then returned her eyes to the happily munching man next to her. "Where's Cas?"

Dean stopped mid-chew and looked up from his breakfast. Swallowing hard to clear his mouth of residual pancake dough, he searched for the right words to explain her celestial sibling's absence.

"Pulled a Houdini." He instantly regretted the lame attempt at a joke given Anna's weakened state but she seemed unperturbed. She nodded and played with her food, lost in thought. The hand holding her fork trembled a little when she finally lifted it, a small piece of pancake pinned to the tines.

Hiding his intentions behind the mug with steaming, hot coffee, Dean eyed Anna observantly. Dark smudges beneath her eyes belied the twelve hours of sleep she had had. Add that to the shaky hands and her slow rise from the couch earlier on, the cautiously placed steps she had taken – both of which Dean had noticed out of the corner of his eyes – the hunter concluded that Anna's condition justified the guilt blossoming in the pit of his stomach. He took another sip at the mug and let the scalding, bitter liquid clear away the bile gradually rising in his throat.

"We need to talk."

Sputtering and splashing, Dean barely avoided spilling the remainder of his caffeine dosage down his front.

"Dude! Do you EVER use the friggin' door?! Your wings in fluffy stealth mode or somethin'?"

Castiel simply fell silent and, instead of responding, brushed a worried glance over Anna, taking in the slumped shoulders and her pallid face. Gazing around at Bobby, he inclined his head to the older hunter. Singer simply stared, spatula and pot holder still in his hands. Then, pulling himself from his stupor, Bobby nodded in reply, straightened his apron with the backs of his hands and turned around to save the last round of pancakes from burning to unrecognizable, black discs.

Dean noticed his outraged challenge would go unanswered, murmured an irritated "Typical angel timing" over the rim of his mug and downed the rest of his coffee, sulking.

"I know where your brother is, Dean." Said it and again, Castiel resorted to silence.

Dean's heart skipped several beats before he rose from his chair, setting his cup onto the table. "Well? Where is he? Spill it!"

"Devil's Gate, Wyoming. Dean. He is in grave danger. Gabriel has been sent to save the guardian. Lucifer is his only interest. Sam is considered collateral damage by my superiors."

The older Winchester brother sensed his stomach plummet through the floorboards and it was his turn to search for words. Silent, unable to process the sudden turn of events, he pinched the bridge of his nose, then, digging forefinger and thumb deep into his closed eyes, he huffed out a shaky breath and whispered through clenched teeth, "Right. So, uh. What … what do we do, now? Think, Dean. Goddammit. Think."

"So, you have finally made a decision, Cas? Impressive. This isn't just disobedience. This is high treason." Anna's voice, sad but defiant, cut like burning ice. Castiel flinched as if she had hit him square in the face, his shoulders drooping a little.

Indifferent, the female angel turned around to face Bobby and Dean, obviously having reached a decision herself. "We need to leave. Now. If we're lucky we get there in time to..."

Frustrated, worried sick, Dean interrupted her and barked in a voice only Bobby immediately recognized as John's menacing tone, "To what? Scrape Sam's meat from the ground?!"

~TBC~

* * *

**End Notes:**

Thanks for reading...


	9. Linked

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Castiel  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter: **9/?, Linked  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for current season (up to 4.21) and accidental spoilers for some concepts used in season 5

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.  
**Summary:****_***Accidental Spoilers for some concepts in Season 5****_**

Sequel to **Links **

_Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways... _

**"So, you really think you could do it? Kill me? Kill **_Sammy_**?"**

_(follows mostly canon up to 4.21; after that AU)_

**Hurt!Dean, limp!Sam. **

**A/N I: **Lots of angst and graphic torment (mental and physical), therefore and for some strong swearwords and gory action rated M.

**A/N II:** Please note, that this story may contain occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no** time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious , I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.

**A/N III: **Thanks to my beta Cal for her patience and beta'ing.

* * *

**End of Days**

_by RoweenaC_

Chapter 09: Linked

"... while individually we are linked to one another..."  
~Romans, 12:15~

"...And then shall all the righteous escape,..."  
~Enoch, 10:17~

"That's not what..."

Dean rounded on her, pale anger marring his features. She bore up against his angry stare, saw him swallow, his throat working hard to breathe around the panic. His face changed, a soft sliver of regret flickered in his eyes.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I just need to go get him."

Anna nodded but never broke eye-contact until finally, he looked away, wiping his face with his palm. Grabbing the back of his chair, he leaned on it heavily.

Bobby cleared his throat. "I hate to say it but... We can't just rush in there. We need a plan."

Clueless himself, the older hunter looked around at each of the others in turn. Anna smiled weakly, while Dean kept his face averted, unable to answer. Castiel however, nodded.

"We need to leave soon. I would send you there but...," He stopped and his face fell. "I have lost most of my powers." His voice trailed away and Anna eyed him under long lashes. He seemed different, sad and lonely.

"Well, we'll need to drive there then and we can prepare in the car. It's not that we stand a chance of killing the sonuvabitch anyway." Bobby fell silent when he felt Dean's eyes burn angry holes into his soul. "Lucifer, Dean. I didn't... I wasn't talking about Sam...and uh... well, I ain't got a clue how to..." Searching for a way out, he broke off.

"I will tell you what I know but everything after I fe...," Castiel caught himself before he said it out loud. Too soon, too painful. Gathering his nerves, he rephrased, "Everything after I came here is beyond my knowledge." The effort had taken a toll on the angel and he sank into the chair, previously inhabited by Bobby, literally shrinking into it, and let out a long breath.

Dean peered at the male angel, intrigued. He had never seen Castiel this shaken up, emotions reflecting in his face, lacing his voice. His heavenly posture was less intimidating, the majestic composure had completely vanished. He seemed... small, human. With a pang, the younger hunter understood.

An image of John's burial pyre and the ghost of Sam's lifeless body in his desperate embrace washed over him, he shivered. Castiel had lost his family. Not lost but given it up for the Winchesters, a sacrifice Dean admired. He wondered if he could have done the same thing.

He shook his head. As his panic had finally abated a little, he shrugged and clapped his hands loudly, rubbing them afterwards.

"Well, sounds like a plan. Let's wrap it up. Bobby?" The older man turned around again and nodded questioningly.

"We need one of the cars," Dean was already walking back into the study to check his duffel bag and fetch some of Singer's supply of Holy Water, not really sure it would help at all but who knew...

"Sure thing. I'll drive."

Dean looked up from his bag and nodded. No good fighting over the driver's seat at this point. He was itching to leave, to get to Wyoming in time. To get to Sam.

The angels sat amidst the sudden rustle of action around them, both silently peering into the other's eyes. Anna nodded and Cas replied, the sad smile tugging at his mouth not reaching his eyes. "You've done the right thing, Cas. The others are too arrogant to see. I know we are following our Father's plan. We are supposed to be their protectors. But we've been too jealous to understand that. They need our guidance, we were made by the same Father. It's our job to look out for them. I believe in that. Our Father loves his children equally. Have faith. This is just."

The male angel held her gaze for a short while longer, his eyes dark blue, betraying his aching soul, and then looked away, head hanging low. "I hope you're right, Anna. For all our sakes. For the sake of mankind and the whole of our Father's creation, I hope you are right." Sighing, he again resorted to a contemplative silence, his doubts evident in his once indifferent composure.

Anna smiled again, compassionately. "See? As long as there's hope, there's a way."

"You guys ready?" Bobby's gruff voice coming from the hallway interrupted the strangely peaceful atmosphere in the kitchen and Dean pushed past them looking back over his right shoulder.

"Coming?"

***

Bracing himself, Lucifer advanced on the trailer's entrance. He dug at Sam's canvas jacket, hand remaining hidden behind the fabric. The incarcerated hunter was enthralled by the unexpected events unfolding before his eyes. Sam felt as if he was watching a movie, and leaned in closer, careful not to miss any detail. For a short while he forgot his tremors, the chains and his guilty conscience. This was important. Every fiber of his essence told him so.

The trailer sat silently in front of them. Windows broken, curtains flapping idly in the abating breeze. The door was still shut, barring the interior from prying eyes. Nothing moved inside.

A sudden burst blasted the door from its hinges, propelling it twenty feet away narrowly avoiding Lucifer, who immediately froze in his tracks, straightened up, shoulders hunched ready to strike.

Seth stood on the threshold, slowly stepping down the two steps to the prairie ground. His frame seemed strangely too wide, too tall, the air glittered and warbled around him. A double vision of something larger, superhuman, overlay his figure, dizzyingly contorting the guardian's shape. Around his shoulder the contortion broadened even further, stretching the weirdly flickering air around Seth far beyond the trailer.

Sam squinted, blinked and gaped. '_Wings? What the hell?'_

"Gabe. I didn't expect you so soon." Lucifer's bravado belied the tension Sam felt coursing through his captor's essence. It glittered, rippled as if in answer to the change in atmosphere around them.

Seth remained silent, unmoving, looking Lucifer over imperiously. Nothing in his posture gave away that he had even heard the words. He simply peered at Lucifer, jaws set defiantly. Sam's heartbeat skipped several beats when he recognized the look. The hunter in front of him, even if dark-haired, bore a strange resemblance to Dean.

_'So that's the surprise then.'_ His own flat, emotionless tone took him aback. Shouldn't it hit him harder? Disturb him? Yet, somehow Seth's likeness to his brother even strangely reassured him. Hope came creeping back to him._ 'Maybe... just maybe...'_

"Why so silent, bro? I would think a polite _Hello, how are you?_ would be in order, don't you? After all, this is a family reunion! The prodigal son is coming home at last. Shouldn't you call in the caterers, like we're told by the Bible? Oh, and what about Iron Maiden as band? Surely that can be arranged? The _Number Of The Beast_ would rock as an opener, don't you think?" Lucifer's snide taunts bounced off the guardian, leaving no trace of angered or hurt emotions behind.

Sam was still trying to grasp the meaning of the situation, putting things together seemed harder than usual. Gabe. Brother. Wings. Those were the clues. It hit him like lightning. Gabriel. Of course he would be Lucifer's brother. _'A freaking archangel! Holy crap, this is gonna get nasty.'_

Neither of the angelic brothers stepped any closer, the space between them widened, morphed into insurmountable distance echoing their opposing sides of the apocalyptic battle. Lucifer had finally given up on his verbal attacks and stood silently, legs at shoulder width, ready to fight, his hand still buried in the jacket. The archangel's hands hung loosely at his sides, idle.

Then all of a sudden, they charged in unison. Running at each other, time seemed to lengthen and come to a stop. Lucifer pulled his hand free and a sword gleamed in his fist, a dark gray blade, with Enochian letters glowing darkly like polished obsidian, pulsating with his heartbeat. At the same time, Gabriel pulled his weapon from the back of Seth's waistband. Long, bright and silvery, glittering like mercury, the sword of the archangel strangely resembled Lucifer's blade. Yet, the markings shone in a bright green-white light. When the swords clashed, black and emerald lightning erupted from them, arching around the human hosts, building a dome of electricity. The bright spikes crisscrossed around them, weaving and intertwining, bouncing off each other, mirroring Lucifer and Gabriel's physical battle. Suddenly, the build up of unearthly electricity stopped, the dome imploded in itself, nearly knocking the sword hilts from their respective owners' clasp.

Sam cringed as a powerful wave of anger rolled through his captor's essence. Both combatants were thrown backwards, landing unceremoniously on their backsides. Breathing heavily, Lucifer pulled himself up instantly. Gabriel was already on his feet again, back towards the trailer.

They charged again, each careful to avoid direct contact with the other sword. Instead, Lucifer thrust his blade forward, seeking the guardian's unprotected left side, twisting around his own body axis to preempt a counterstrike. The blackened sword buried itself deep into Seth's flesh and the archangel shuddered, gravely hurt, stumbling backwards to lean against the trailer, breathing heavily. His sword arm was cupped around his midriff, pressing hard against the gash to stifle the bleeding, his free hand flat against the cool metal of the mobile home's exterior, supporting his weight. The veins in Seth's throat bulged, and for a fleeting moment Sam was sure he could see tears in the host's eyes, pain flickering behind them. And panic, like a distant scream coming from the human residing inside the archangel. The apparent despair hit the imprisoned Winchester hard, reflecting his own emotions. Obviously, being a host, either to the Devil or an archangel, wasn't easy on the human. Seth's face paled and the eyes went flat again. Gabriel was back in control and Lucifer knew it too. Sam's captor had waited, using these precious seconds to reassess and breathe.

_'Not that easy, is it? Gonna get your sorry ass kicked big time, you bastard!'_ Sam put all his wrath into the challenge, glad to see the Devil struggling. He took pleasure in the thought that this time, maybe, just maybe Lucifer would be thwarted. Hope blossomed again and the younger Winchester thrived on it, feeling better than he had in two days, the tremors had ceased completely and even the strangely physical agony had morphed into a dull throb.

_'Afraid not, Sammy. See, it's been long foretold that I can only be killed by _**one**_ of them. They're too damn stupid to take that seriously, y'know? Arrogant sons of bitches that they are, they send Gabriel instead of Michael. I'm gonna kick his celestial ass back to Zion, you'll see. Strap in. This is gonna be fun!'_

Distracted by this short internal exchange, Gabriel had charged without Lucifer noticing, consequently catching the Devil unprepared to ward off the archangel's attack. The green-shimmering sword came rushing at Lucifer's throat, angled straight at the tender flesh beneath the Adam's apple. Almost too late, Lucifer let himself drop to the ground and to the left. The blade missed the throat and instead cut deep into Sam's right cheek, separating muscles and nerves, drawing an angry red line running from his mouth to his temple. Blood welled up instantly, gushing down, along the cheekbone, into Lucifer's slightly open mouth. Irritated by the unexpected blow and the resulting pain, the Devil licked his lips, swallowed the salty liquid pooling on his tongue and wiped at the sticky moisture on his face. Oblivious to the consequences of his own actions, Lucifer tried to get up, his blade pointing directly at Seth's heart ready to lance through it at any second. Gabriel tumbled slightly, caught off balance by his fallen brother's defensive move and weakened by his still bleeding wound.

Then everything happened at once.

Sam felt a rush of power surging through his presence, bursting through him, rejuvenating him. Power beyond his knowledge took hold of him, stronger than ever before. Never once had demon blood had that same effect on him. He felt larger than life, invincible. The abrupt, enormous change made him stagger in his head as he struggled to adjust to it, to believe in it.

Tentatively, he pulled at the imaginary chains binding him to his prison. They were still in place, but they were softer, flexible. Encouraged he pulled again, harder this time. His essence arched against the restraints, his newly acquired strength supporting him, feeding him.

Enraged, Lucifer howled when he realized his mistake. Swallowing the blood, mixed with his own tainted, distorted Grace, he had provided the only chance for his captive to liberate himself. Now fighting a battle at two fronts, he hurried to concentrate on his physical opponent, Gabriel. Pushing hard in a upward direction, just when the stumbling host's chest hung above the tip of his sword, he ran the blade through Seth's sternum. Ribs cracked audibly, a hissing sound indicated the sword's path on its way through the soft, pulmonary tissue, followed by a brief stop when once-celestial metal scraped along vertebrae, and finally a tug of nothing. The blade protruded from the host's severed spine, glinting darkly, warm blood dripping from it in thick threads.

A white-green flicker in Seth's eyes, wonder and genuine surprise, then the angel sagged onto Lucifer, pinning him with his dead weight to the ground. The Devil however, shoved at the lifeless body of his brother's host, pulled his sword free with a nauseatingly squishy sound, cast the corpse aside and rose to his full height. Electricity again began building up around him, originating from the dead archangel. Lucifer reached out his hands, sword still firmly in his right, and bend over his defeated opponent.

"Now, why didn't you just join me, brother? Would've been so much easier. But no, you just had to be the same sanctimonious sonuvabitch you've always been. Where's that Grace of yours, now? Where's your shiny trumpet? Weren't you s'posed to use it at the End of Days? And by the way... where's your daddy now? I told you he didn't care for us. Never did."

He kicked with his left foot against the body, sparks of green light flew up like embers of a dying campfire. He kicked again, harder, and this time an emerald flash glared upward, connected with the bloodstained sword, hanging loosely in Lucifer's grip, and blasted it out of the Devil's hand. The fallen angel felt himself being pushed backwards, pressed against the trailer, nailed to it by a myriad of pin prick lightning bolts. Fighting against them after he had recovered from the surprise, Lucifer struggled to free himself. He pulled and yelled, furiously. His wrath reverberated like thunder over the prairie, rolling against cliffs and rocks, echoing off them and overlapping, a whirlwind akin to the one on the beach rose around him, black fire fought green, a luminescent vortex of eternal power.

Blind to the world outside of his body, Sam still fought against Lucifer's hold on him. Agony enveloped the hunter, threatened to pull him under, drown him again but he fought, held on, increased his efforts until...

... the chains finally gave. And he was free. He welcomed the warm darkness encompassing him, grateful for its soothing, comforting embrace. Sam let himself slip away from the pain and the guilt, not caring if he was alive or dead. Free. He was free at last.

Lucifer roared with satanic wrath. The air was charged with electricity, it tugged at him, pulled, tore him nearly in pieces until...

...he was ripped from Sam's body, agony coursing through his essence; pure dark light once more, weightless and shapeless. He turned his awareness around, desperate for a new host. Directing his force to the useless bag of bones that had housed Gabriel, he kept feeding on his brother's evaporating Grace to build up enough strength. He focused his powers and surged forward. It was an agonizing experience, torment he had never known. The residue of Gabriel's pure Grace in the new body fought his endeavors desperately. Feeding from the power even as it cost him dearly, Lucifer gradually pushed the remnants of Gabriel out of Seth's corpse and relaxed slightly. His Disgrace wove a web of infernal healing around the fatal wound gaping from the guardian's chest. Finally, he settled comfortably inside his new host and slowly got to his feet again. A brief wave of vertigo washed over him when his mind adjusted to the new body's height and then Lucifer turned around to look at Sam. The hunter was half way propped up against the trailer, his unconscious head lolling to his left shoulder, exposing the gash marring his features. A couple of brown strands had come to rest on the crimson liquid and would soon be glued to the skin in the congealing blood.

"Pity. You were a damn good piece of meat and so much fun to play with." His eyes wandered across Sam's pale face, admiring the deep cut on his cheek still oozing blood. Then peering down at the hunter's slowly moving chest, he watched as the deep gash Jenna had caused re-opened. Now that Lucifer's powers had left together with his presence, the injury would return to its normal healing process.

"Let's face it, kiddo. You're screwed." And with that he turned around, the air around him warbled, heat waves emanating from him, and he vanished.

***

Tickled.

"Gerr'off, Dean," a drowsy mumble tumbled from dry, blood-crusted lips. Too tired to be bothered to open his eyes and the mother of all headaches yelling in his head, the hunter wiped at the annoying sensation on his cheek. Weird. Wet. Tickling again.

"Dude... ow!" Pain sliced his face in half, raw flesh rubbing against his cheekbone when muscles tried to move the jaws according to his words. Awake instantly, Sam looked down at himself, wincing when another wave of skull splitting pain washed over him. A weak hand gingerly touched his cheek and he withdrew it quickly, realizing the amount of damage there. Trying to get up, he bent forwards only a fraction and nearly fainted when a red hot stab lanced through his chest, twisted around his ribcage and constricted his airways. Eyes shut, face on fire again as his mouth was contorted in an upside down smile, he blanched. _'Can't breathe. Can't friggin' breathe! Oh god.'_

He forced himself to search for the origin, still desperately gasping for oxygen. Eyes opened to mere slits, he gazed down at his front. His shirt was drenched in red blood around a still seeping hole in his right upper pectoral muscle. _'Jenna.'_

A breathless whisper escaped his mouth. "S'screw'd."

Slowly, the pain in his face and giant fist squeezing his chest decided to retreat a little and Sam found he could actually muster the strength to contemplate his current situation. He squinted up to the sky and was surprised to see that the sun, still a pale orb behind a misty veil, had obviously crossed its zenith and already descended to an early afternoon position in the southwest.

_'Damn. How long have I been out?'_

When they had got here, it had been morning. At least four hours then, maybe five. Peachy. Then his brain pointed out another interesting observation. THEY had got here.

_'Lucifer. Where the hell...?' _

Looking around, eyes wide in shock, he moved his head gently into the direction of the Impala. Far away, a lifetime away, he could make out the dark, gleaming shape of the Chevy's black carriage.

_'No, wouldn't take the car. No body, no steering. Wait a minute...' _

Hefting his stare to a spot of blood-soaked earth with Gabriel's sword lying in the middle the darkened area, reflecting the sunlight dully. Sam frowned and was rewarded with a painful reminder of his facial injury's unchanged presence.

_'Seth. Where? Oh crap... Luci's got himself a new meatsuit. Just peachy. '_

Nausea threatened to overwhelm him and in a strange way he really appreciated that he would be able to vomit now. Having full control over your own body sure came with a lot of perks, and right now, puking appealed to him as one of them. He refrained from grinning bitterly just in time, remembering that his muscles would react to it, jarring at the sore flesh on his cheek.

Instead, his eyes wandered back to the horizon locking onto the Chevy. Dean.

His left hand dug deep into his back pocket, fishing for the mobile phone. Finally, Sam wrapped his shivering fingers around it and he pulled it free. His forefinger hovered apprehensively over the speed dial button and he felt cold sweat pouring down his back, drenching his waistband uncomfortably. _'What if...' _He closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat threatening to burst free in a whimper. Still blind to his surroundings, Sam hit the button. With each unbroken ring, his throat tightened more and his heartbeat sped up. One... Two...

_'Pickuppickuppikupp.'_

Three. Four. Fi...

"Sammy?" Hoarse, emotions he wouldn't dare to admit to lacing his voice, Dean nearly yelled into his phone.

Sam's heartbeat stumbled, stuttered and then caught itself again, racing with relief.

"D-Dean?" There was so much he wanted to say but he simply fell silent right after that. _Sorry, Dean. It's all my fault. I didn't mean for it to happen. I couldn't stop it. I screwed up. Please, I'm so sorry. _The words seemed too small, inappropriate, stale, unworthy of the apocalyptic scale of his wrong-doings. Sam swallowed and changed course going for the matter-of-fact approach Dean would understand and prefer.

"Sam, you okay? Dammit, say something!"

"Yeah. Sssor...", he caught himself just before the words tumbled from his tell-tale tongue. "I mean, yeah. I'm okay. Not great but okay. Listen, Lucifer", he gasped when shortness of breath and a sudden spike in his throbbing headache resulted in an explosion of gray stars in front of his eyes.

He took a deep breath, bit down hard on his bottom lip to fight the urge to wince and went on, hoping Dean wouldn't pick up on the tremors in his voice. '_God help me, but Dean in full on protective mode is more than I can handle now.' _

"Lucifer has a new host. He's gone to God knows where. I'm … uh...", he gazed around gingerly, trying not to stir his wounds. To his left a cliff rose high into the sky, rough stone, crevices running across it in irregular patterns. A bit further down the stone formation showed a slim indentation all the way to the bottom. An old trail lead through the chasm into the plains of the prairie.

Something flickered deep down in Sam's mental archives, a pencil drawing. An old one. Somewhere....?

"We're on our way to Wyo...", Dean began when Sam cut across him, finally making the connection.

"That's it! Devils Gate, Wyoming. Dad had a drawing of it in the journal... That's why..."

"Dude, you done blabbing? I said we're coming, we're on our way there. Did he... did he take the car?"

Of course, Dean and his baby. Sam grinned involuntary and his eyes started watering immediately pain lanced through his face in waves of liquid fire. Taking a few seconds to be sure his voice wouldn't betray his struggle, he continued finally, "No, she's here. Safe and sound. How long till you get here?

"Let's see..." Dean's voice grew fainter, talking to his companions. Sam sighed soundlessly, the hardship of talking without telling gasps in between was taking its toll on him.

"Bobby says 'bout five or six hours. Sam, you sure you're okay?" Worry emanated from the phone like an almost palpable presence. Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head gently against the trailer.

"I'm good." Six hours would be too long. He knew it. Not just because of the estimated blood loss but because Lucifer already had at least four hours on them. There was no time. His weary gaze searched the Impala once more.

"Listen Dean, I think we'd better... meet somewhere." Breathing heavily, Sam held the mouthpiece in the opposite direction.

"Um... Buffalo? That's four hours tops. And 'bout the same time for you, right?" Dean waited, the unspoken need to take care of his baby brother hanging in the distance between them.

Sam heard it. Grateful and feeling guilty at the same time, he fisted his jeans with his right hand, regretting the muscle contraction instantly.

"'kay. Buffalo."

"Take the I220 into Casper and then the I25 north until you get to Buffalo, then follow the signs to I90. First motel off the I90. Meet ya there, bro. Hang in there, Sammy. You hear me? We're gonna get this sucker. And when we, do I'm gonna kick his ass back to the pit."

"That a promise?"

"Sure is, dude. You know I always keep my promises, don't ya?"

"Yeah, you do."

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

"Take care of my baby." _Take care of my wheels. _Sam cringed. Words spoken twelve months back, but a lifetime of wrong decisions and false hopes ago.

"Yeah, you know I will. Dean?" '_I miss you, bro. I'm not sure I can do this but I'll try. I'm so sorry...'_

"Yeah?" The tension in his older sibling's voice rose up another notch.

"Uh, nothin'." _'I was wrong. I shoulda listened to you.' _

"Right." Sam heard his frown through the phone. Not trusting his own voice he stayed silent.

"Later, Bitch."

"Jerk."

Static crackled in his ears until the occupied signal beeped a harsh wake-up call into his eardrums. Slowly, unwilling to break the connection, he put his hand down in his lap, the phone clasped in a white-knuckled fist.

Sam sighed, his chest hitching slightly. There was no other way. Somehow, he had to get to the car and drive. Without passing out and wrecking the Chevy or Dean would have his ass. That much was certain. The first aid kit was still full but sadly, it also was a light years away in the trunk. _'Friggin' marathon. Maybe wouldn't even make it that far, way I'm feelin'..'_

Sitting there, just breathing and sitting, somehow appealed to him much more than the arduous trip to the car. It was nice out here, quiet and not too hot. Why not stay here? There was the trailer and Seth must have got some rations and water; a place like this, way off from everything. Hunters could be a little anal when it came to storage. Especially since Seth seemed to have been on apocalypse guard duty.

_'That's it! He was a hunter. Must've had some meds and suture equipment stashed in that tin box! Only need to find it and I'm good to go... Though, means I need to get up on my own feet first.'_

Sam pushed hard against the metal exterior of Seth's mobile home, biting his bottom lip against taunting oblivion. His chest puckered agonizingly with the movement straining his pectoral muscles. Using his long legs as leverage, he slid upwards, trying not to think about anything but the promise of painkillers.

"Nuuugh." A moan escaped him, scraping along the corrugated fiberglass until he stood upright, drenched in sweat and panting.

_Not bad, Sammy. Now, let's get your sorry ass into the trailer and fix you._ Dean's voice. If only fixing him would be as easy as that...

Sam hung his head for a second, pulling on his remaining strength and pushed himself away from the trailer to obey his brother's command.

***

Dean snapped the phone shut, the back of the hand holding it was glued to his lips, choking his worries, forcing them back down to curdle in his heart.

"Well? What he say?" Bobby asked tentatively, shot the younger man in the passenger seat a sharp look and then focused on the road again.

"Not much we didn't already know. Lucifer's left without him. He's good apparently", Dean heard the false cheer in his voice, his stomach churning. Lost in thought he overheard Castiel's sharp intake of breath.

Sam had been odd. Contained, as if hiding something important. And there had been some worrying signs of breathlessness and pain in his baby bro's voice even though Sam had fought hard to control that, too. '_Hang in there, Sammy, only a few more hours. Whatever's going on with you, we'll deal with it and then we go after the evil sonuvabitch together. Payback time. Assuming we find a way to get rid off him. That might come in handy.' _

"So, it's Buffalo?" Bobby's inquiry pulled Dean's thoughts back to the present.

"Yeah, first motel off the highway into Buffalo. He's gonna bring the Impala, too. Said Lucifer left it there. Wonder why he took it in the first place. Shouldn't he be able to jump the wormhole like you guys?" Glad to be distracted from his worries, Dean looked around to the backseat, eying Castiel and Anna curiously. It wasn't like there was anything he could do about Sam's situation at the moment. _'Better not think about it before that changes... Right, like that's ever worked before.'_

"Bending time and space is very difficult. It needs a lot of power. Maybe Lucifer is saving his energy for the end. I am in fact more intrigued that Lucifer left your brother's body without a fight", Castiel answered.

Dean's heart skipped a few beats at the angel's blunt way of voicing his own fears.

Swallowing hard, he focused on Cas. His face was pallid, cheeks hollowed out and he seemed tired. The younger hunter shivered at this observation. Angels shouldn't be tired, it was just wrong on so many levels. Gazing to the woman next to Castiel, Dean found her exhaustion even more apparent than her brother's. Although hers resulted probably more from the fact that she was physically drained. His eyes searched the glinting amulet and guilt reentered the stage of his soul, ready for an encore. Anna answered his worried stare with a small, lopsided grin but remained silent.

Forcing his mind back to the male angel's words about Lucifer, carefully avoiding any topic that might concern Sam, Dean inquired, "Yeah, let's talk about that. What's his endgame? What's he killin' all these people for instead of simply scorching the earth and all that crap?"

"We... I don't know for sure. It has been long foretold that Michael will slay Lucifer in the end, banishing him for all eternity. He will throw him into the Lake of Fire. But as to the how and where, I can't tell you anything." Castiel paused and turned his face away to look through the side window, eyes pinned to a point far beyond the horizon. Just when Dean was about to ask for more, the angel continued. "We need to find Michael and his sword. It is the only weapon strong enough to kill Lucifer."

"Oh, fun! Find the freakin' Prince of Angels and his freakin flamin' lightsaber. Piece o' cake."

Sarcasm oozed from Dean's remark and he barked a short laugh.

Cas cocked an eyebrow, apparently surprised Dean knew the archangel's title. "He has no lightsaber. His sword is made of ..." Noticing the look on his charge's face, he broke off.

Dean rolled his eyes at the angel's ignorance. _'Star Wars should be made compulsory viewing at angel college'_, he thought. "So, why do we need to find him and his _sword_." Putting extra emphasis on the last word, he waited for Castiel's reply.

"Michael is the most powerful angel. He has powers only surpassed by those of our Father. He can heal you", glancing sideways at Anna, his eyes stopping briefly at the amulet just like Dean's had done before, he elaborated." More profoundly than I ever could. And his sword is of the utmost importance if we want to defeat Lucifer."

Bobby cut in, "So, where's this sword and how're we gonna find Michael?"

"I don't know. But there might be a way to find both of their locations."

Dean felt like a can of beer, shaken continuously for more than five minutes and about to be opened. He had been condemned to sitting idly in the car, desperate for action and itching to find Sam. Any distraction was a welcome let out and he had to admit that a way of getting rid of Lucifer for good together with a chance to free Anna from wearing the damned amulet sure had its perks. "Well? How?"

***

Sam leaned against the black metal of the Chevy, comfortingly warmed by the sun. Looking back at the trailer a few hundred yards away, he thanked God wholeheartedly for lidocaine. His face and chest still soothingly numbed by the injections, he had crossed the distance at a fairly quick pace, only slowed by fatigue due to sustained blood loss.

Administering the necessary stitches to his wounds hadn't been an easy task as he had been forced to do them with his less skilled left hand. Apparently, when injecting the analgesic into his pecs, Sam had accidentally hit a nerve, resulting in the fact that his right arm was now dangling limply at his side. It felt like an overgrown cucumber and even if he could still move the fingers, they had been too unreliable for needlework. Sam had cleaned the wounds with holy water and alcohol and then set out to stitch the gaping cuts back together. The result hadn't pretty but it had stopped the bleeding for now.

_Chicks dig scars, Sammy._

Sam grinned. Dean had a pretty sick sense of humor sometimes.

He opened the door, hinges greeting him with the accustomed creak, and threw Gabriel's sword on the passenger seat. The hunter had taken it with him on a hunch as its properties had already caught his interests when he had first seen it. Who knew when it would come in handy?

Stretching up to his full height, rolling his shoulders gingerly, careful not to anger his chest wound, he bent down and folded his tall frame behind the steering wheel.

Sam let out a deep sigh of relief while his left hand fiddled, awkwardly bending around the wheel, with the keys Lucifer hadn't bothered to pull from the ignition.

_'Dean would have my ass if I'd done that.'_

Another grin, even wider this time, tugged at the threads in his cheek. Elated, even if his injuries were throbbing dully now, Sam felt like things were looking remarkably better than thirty minutes ago. There was at last a chance he would actually get himself and the car to Buffalo in one piece.

Finally, he turned the key and let the engine roar, and nearly laughed out loud when the radio blared Bad Company's _Movin' On_ from its speakers.

~TBC~

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**

Ending on a higher note this time. Gives you some time to breathe and allows me to slip in some unexpected angst later on...

Thanks for reading!


	10. Revelations

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Castiel  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter: **10/?,  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for season 4 (up to 4.21) and accidental spoilers for some concepts used in season 5

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.  
**Summary:**

**_***Accidental Spoilers for some concepts in Season 5****_**

Sequel to **Links **

_Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways... _

**"So, you really think you could do it? Kill me? Kill **_Sammy_**?"**

_(follows mostly canon up to 4.21; after that AU)_

**Hurt!Dean, limp!Sam. **

**A/N I: **Lots of angst and graphic torment (mental and physical), therefore and for some strong swearwords and gory action rated M.

**A/N II:** Please note, that this story may contain occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At **no** time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious , I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.

**A/N III: **Thanks for the quick and profound beta, graceofgod. Loves ya! You're a gem!

* * *

_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

Chapter 10: Revelations

"... while individually we are linked to one another..."  
~ Romans, 12:15 ~

"...the angels showed me, and from them I heard everything, and from them I understood as I saw, but not for this generation, but for a remote one which is for to come..."  
~ 1 Enoch, 1:2

The afternoon sun shone directly into his eyes; squinting, he looked around at the angels in the backseat, silent and withdrawn.

Avoiding Castiel's cool, searching stare, Dean observed the female angel next to him. Anna's head rested against the window, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Now and then, a shudder would run through her body, sometimes accompanied by a soft sigh or moan.

His mouth went dry, feeling the familiar trepidation slink into his heart. Sleeping angels were one thing but she didn't look healthy at all. Her skin, usually a rosy complexion, now resembled a sickly gray white. Her full lips, hardly recognizable, tinged blue and cracked like a wadi in dry season, trembled with every breath she took; and a fine sheen of sweat reflected the beams of the slowly setting sun; the light shimmering, refracted into a rainbow colored halo by the tiny, salty prisms on her forehead.

A cold yet scorching fist dug itself into the hunter's insides when guilt attempted to overcome him once more. He made an effort to force it back down and directed his thoughts into another direction.

Dean's treacherous mind tricked him and resorted to the conversation with Sam a few hours ..._two hours and forty-three minutes_... ago. Weakness and exhaustion apparent in his sibling's tone, shaky hitches quickly veiled with a cough; but Dean had heard them. However, he had refrained from delving deeper into that matter knowing it would only lead to Sam trying to lie to him.

And frankly, he had had his fair share of lying if it came to that boy. And furthermore, there wasn't anything Dean could have done to help Sam anyway.

The need to run, fight, save became increasingly harder to subdue, his legs twitched as if they were itching to run off without him. Yet, he was condemned to wait until they finally reached Buffalo. Feeling panic looming in his stomach, Dean again forced his thoughts to change tracks.

Lucifer was still out there killing hunters and they still didn't have a fighting chance against the Devil.

"Hey, Cas?" surprised at the rasp in his voice, Dean cleared his throat and continued. "Why's it so important we find Michael?"

"He is the only one who can slay the serpent. Lucifer. Michael is the strongest and most feared of all my Father's children."

"Well, yeah. I got that the first time. I mean, why do we need to find him? Why's Sammy Lucifer's meatsuit? Why is this all happening to us? We're just regular hunters, right?" A rustle to his left announced Bobby's heightened interest as the older hunter was now leaning closer, eyes glued to the road, and listening. Dean kept his eyes on the angel, one eyebrow cocked curiously.

"It has been long foretold. At the End of Days..."

"Yeah, yeah, cut the crap get to the important part, dammit. Why us?" The angel shot Dean a slightly offended look before he inclined his head a fraction and began once more.

"Angels need hosts, vessels. You have met mine. Lucifer is an angel, even if a fallen one. We need human bodies to walk among you. Only a few of you who could ever harbor a being such as us."

Dean nodded quickly, trying to usher the angel along.

"At the beginning of time..."

"Cas, don't..." the older Winchester tried to interrupt but the angel ignored the irritated tone and went on regardless.

"When Lucifer fell, a number of angels joined ranks with him in his rebellion. They all were cast down to earth or even chose to come here and live among you as guardians and teachers. They were called Watchers or Grigori. Some of them fell in love with human women."

"Not that jugless then, huh." Dean smirked dryly while Castiel's gaze pierced through him.

"The angels taught men manifold arts and crafts as well as magic. After some time, they fornicated with the daughters of men. Their offspring was regarded as an abomination by some. People and angels alike feared these superhuman creatures, unsure whether they could be trusted and turned to God for help. God took pity on the humans and sent the flood to cleanse the surface of the earth from the unholy spawn. The Nephilim were eradicated and Noah and his sons set out to populate the world again. Or so the humans believed."

"This is all very interesting in a Sunday-school kinda way, Cas, but relevant?" Dean already regretted his inquiry wholeheartedly. The angel sounded like the lamest imitation of a priest he had ever laid eyes on.

"Quit yer yappin', boy! You asked, now listen!" Bobby intervened and Dean fell silent, surprised at the barely contained anger in the older man's voice.

"It is relevant, Dean. Very." His tone persuasive, Castiel reinforced his gaze and saw the immediate effect in his charge's expression. Dean paled visibly and swallowed, his eyes fluttering between the angels and his fellow hunter for a few minutes. The male angel waited until the older Winchester seemed to have regained his self-control and continued, voice devoid of all emotion.

"Some have survived the Great Flood. And it turns out that the Nephilim have mingled with humans over the following centuries, diluting their original powers. However, some of their celestial heritage is still prevalent in our time. It is in their blood. For one, some of them seem to be able to hear or see angels without damage to their physical forms. Others may have what you would call psychic abilities." Castiel paused, watching the impact of his words on the man sitting in the passenger seat.

Dean's mind was reeling with the implications. _Psychic. It's in their blood._ The older Winchester shivered.

"Some are destined to become hosts for us. And only those who are strongest among the Nephilim can become a host to archangels." the angel finished and held Dean's gaze for a short moment until he turned away and looked out of the side window.

"So,... uh." A cough built up in his throat and Dean surrendered to the itching sensation. "So, that means Sam... we're … no way! That's a pile of heavenly crap. Come on! You've gotta be kiddin' me! I'm not some angel spawn! That's … that's impossible!"

Forcing Castiel's eyes back on him with all his anger, Dean was appalled to see the emotions reflected in the angel's face.

"I am not kidding you, Dean. I have been the most honest I have ever been before with you. You asked me and I answered. I can only relay what I was told. And believe me, there are times I wish it wasn't you or Sam!" The words hissed along Castiel's front teeth, scraping across his lips, cutting through the stale, humid air inside the Chevelle. The younger hunter shrunk back as if slapped across the face, fell silent and turned around contemplating Castiel's revelation.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Bobby knuckling the steering wheel as if he was choking a black snake, the older man's jaws twitched as he processed the angel's words. '_Please, don't ask. Please, Bobby. I don't wanna know any more. Don't.' _

***

_'Don't.' _

_'Don't fall asleep. Focus. Only a little longer.' _

As the highway blurred and wobbled, tilted to one side, Sam blinked, rolling his shoulders, and wincing when the movement jarred his chest wound. The comfortable numbness was decreasing by the second and stiffness had started creeping into his joints, wrapping around his neck like a cold claw, ready to snap his spine. Desperate to stay awake, Sam bent down to his right, cautiously, so as not to irritate any of his injuries, and dug with one long arm under the passenger side of the bench seat, fishing for his sibling's music collection. Nothing worked better than some Iron Maiden tunes to stay awake. Finally, his fingers closed around the metal box and he pulled it out, a victorious smile tugging at the stitches in his still blissfully numb cheek.

Eyes flickering between the road ahead and his lap, Sam quickly sorted through the worn out tapes. Eventually, he found what he was looking for and slipped the cassette into the radio deck. Bruce Dickinson's voice filled the interior of Impala instantly as Dean had apparently stopped listening in the middle of a song.

Sam massaged his neck with his left hand, digging deep into the stiffening muscles and then buried his fingers in his hair tapping the rhythm into his skull, left elbow resting idly on the window sill. The lyrics hovered on the edge of his awareness, sneaked in and out causing shudders to run through his body long before he picked up on their meaning.

..._Then they watch the progress he makes... The Good and the Evil which path will he take… Both of them trying to manipulate... The use of his powers before it's too late..._

Chilled to the bone and wide awake, Sam hit the eject button, throat too dry to even swallow.

"Well at least it worked, I'm awake," cringing away from his own cracked, hoarse voice, the hunter fell silent and focused on the highway again, desperately trying to rid his mind of any thought at all. His brain working at full speed however, Sam had to endure his marvelous ability to dwell on other unnerving facts.

_'Why didn't Lucifer jump back in when I was out? Pretty easy target.'_

Sure, he had been high on demon or devil's blood or whatever at that time. Maybe that had done the trick. Seth's corpse must have seemed a lot more compliant than him. _'And let's not forget the full on Jedi face off with Gabe.'_ Lucifer had taken a few hits and had been forced to draw on his full power to finally edge the archangel out.

Hazel eyes shifted to the passenger seat again. The sword. What use could the blade be to them? Gathering up discarded, powerful weapons had been so deeply ingrained into his hunter m. o., Sam had hardly realized what he was doing at the time. Blades that could hurt demons or angels could always come in handy, especially with the apocalypse unwrapping itself before their eyes.

Ruby's knife had proved its value many times and damn if he didn't wish he could sink it into her belly now. Pondering her role in the build-up to the showdown with Lilith and her present conspicuous absence, the younger Winchester felt certain she had hoodwinked him into breaking the last seal to free the Devil.

Remorse filled his heart with bitter bile when ghosts of Dean's warnings wafted through his mind. His brother's attempts to cure Sam from his addiction and the female demon's destructive influence had all been in vain. So much that when Dean had finally caught up with his baby bro, supported by an armada of hunters, the deluded younger Winchester still had deemed himself victorious, a hero, standing over Lilith's dead body. Until the cold-blue heat had seeped in. Until a cloud of icy wrath had woven itself around his soul in continuously tightening ribbons. Until Lucifer had thrust Sam into his mental prison.

And stabbed his brother.

The Winchester's insides churned. Apparently, Dean had recovered from the deadly wound even if it eluded Sam how he had pulled that trick. _'Poster boys of the unnatural. All we do is ditch death. Hell yeah.' _

Eyelids drooping again, Sam brushed a hand over the healthy half of his face and pinched the bridge of his nose to still a low rumbling headache hammering behind his eyes. A quick glance at his watch and he frowned, knowing he still had forty minutes to cover before he could dare to surrender to exhaustion.

He sighed once more and decided to fast forward to the next song on the tape praying it would be less apocalyptic. Though, with Iron Maiden, you could never be sure.

***

The sun hung just above the highest peaks of the Big Horn mountains, scraping along them on its descent, lengthening the green black shadows of the trees populating their cliffs. Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, barely restraining his nerves. When the mountains had come in sight, a midnight-blue, wavy band on the horizon, a chilling sense of foreboding had wormed its way from his stomach to the base of his skull, scorching a dark hole of worry into his mind. That had been roughly an hour before and now full blown panic was racing up and down his spine. Something was off.

"You quit bouncin' like a jack-in-the-box, boy, or I'm gonna knock you out! We're almost there. He'll be fine." Bobby ground out between clenched jaws.

"What? I'm completely chilled. It's not like we got the freakin' Devil running around or nothin'!"

Dean shot a challenging glance at the driver and wished for the umpteenth time over the last thirty minutes he was behind the wheel himself. Driving always soothed his nerves.

"Cas," the younger hunter twisted around in his seat half way and went on, "Check on Anna?"

"She is fast asleep," Castiel stated, a discomforting note of worry lacing his words before he could control his voice.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but aren't angels supposed to be awake all the time?"

"Yes."

_'Damn, getting' intel from angels is slower and harder than wading through a swamp.' _"So, why's she been out for the whole trip? Think it's... it's the necklace?"

"It could be."

Dean's jaw dropped at the monosyllabic reply. Stopping short of punching the celestial creature straight into his detached expression, the hunter returned his gaze to the side of the road, willing the exit sign into existence. Sam would be fine. He would be waiting in the motel room, laptop whirring and hair dripping from a long shower. He would be, had to be.

A little vicious voice inside his head cackled at that, the voice that had never ceased to remind him of his stint in hell, of the people he hadn't been able to save in his career as a hunter. The voice that had accused him of being the reason for his dad's untimely death.

Dean resisted the urge to cover his ears against the imagined accuser, cold, sour sweat drenching his back now, but the damage was done.

Another bone-chilling stab of panic lanced through him.

The gasps.

The slur.

No, hell no. Sam wasn't fine. Not even in the same zip code as fine. And they had to hurry the HELL up. He knew it.

Bobby's low growl pulled Dean back to his surroundings, "There, that's the sign. So, first motel into Buffalo?"

Mouth suddenly too dry to swallow, the younger man resorted to a curt nod. "Uh-huh."

Irrational ideas criss-crossed behind Dean's eyes.

-Sam lying dead in the wrecked Impala in the ditch somewhere on I25-

-Lucifer impersonating Sam on the phone, carefully laying a trap to gank them at the motel-

-Sam getting high on demon blood, Ruby a willful donor-

"Snap out of it, son! Hey?" Bobby's fingers dug deep into his forearm, unknowingly re-enacting Castiel's scorching grip on the shoulder. Dean's blemished skin crawled away from the touch, the sensation tugging with a faint itch at the scar tissue as if it remembered the injury.

He gasped, trying to count, his heartbeat slowing down finally. The supernovas now erupting in front of his eyes extinguished the worrisome, mental pictures and Dean welcomed the slight vertigo resulting from his previous hyperventilation.

"Wha...? I'm good! I'm okay." mumbling around the hand covering his face, the younger man forced himself to articulate the words carefully as not to stir Bobby's suspicions any further.

"Yeah, right. Don't pull that crap with me, Dean. You're not fine, you were almost passin' out there."

Swallowing a hotheaded reply, Dean silently looked away from the older hunter and searched the roadside for a motel. _'C'mon. Gotta pull it together. Dammit, where's the friggin' motel?!'_

The area they were driving through had an omnipresent out-of-town, industrial touch and Dean wondered if there would be any motels at all. But finally, on the right side of the road, a fairly new, obviously high priced motel came into view. Nearly dismissing it as a possibility when his eyes lit up as his gaze locked on to the black metallic beauty parked outside in the parking lot.

"There!" Pointing with his right index finger, Dean's head swiveled back to look at Bobby and confirm the older man had seen the car, too.

"Yeah, I've seen her. Now, calm down, will ya?"

"Something is wrong." Castiel straightened up in the back seat, gently easing Anna's head to the other side. The female angel sighed shortly, then fell silent again.

"Whaddaya mean something's wrong? How do you...? What's wrong, Cas?"

Shrugging ever so slightly, almost apologetically, the angel continued gazing out the window.

The Chevelle pulled up in the parking space right next to the Impala. Bobby turned the engine off and, as if under a spell, its passengers remained seated for a few seconds.

Dean's eyes caressed the car's shiny exterior, grinning when he found she was intact. Gaze brushing over the side window, the older Winchester felt a lump form in his throat. A mass of unruly, brown hair was plastered against the glass, unmoving. He swallowed, almost gagging, pushed the Chevelle's passenger door open, nearly knocking it into his own baby's side.

"Sam? SAM?" a worried growl escaped his mouth. _'Nonononono. Not now.' _

The sound of Bobby getting out of his car, door creaking open in an Impala-worthy metallic scream, was drowned out by the blood pounding in the older Winchester's ears. Dean nearly yanked the Impala's door from it's hinges, fumbled to catch his brother's lifeless form as Sam tumbled limply out, bereft of its support. Dean cradled the younger man in his arms, gently carding strands of sweat-dampened hair out of his brother's face.

The ghost of a much smaller Sam in his own much younger yet equally panicky arms wafted through his limbs, he smelled burned wood and sulfur for a second.

His sibling's head lolled back, and Dean's breath hitched in his chest. A fresh cut, haphazardly patched up, leered back at him from a deathly pale and sweaty face.

Kneeling on the tarmac, the gravelly surface imprinting itself into his joints, the older brother felt as if he was sinking into deep mud. An icy, all-too familiar feeling of menacing loss grabbed him. Left arm slung around Sam's chest, he worked his right hand free and patted his brother's unscathed cheek. Relief spread through him when he was rewarded with a small Sammy-frown and a soft moan.

"Sammy, come on, man. Wake up. 'S all gonna be okay, now. Open your eyes."

His tone soothing as if talking to a toddler, Dean's eyes assessed his sibling's condition. _'Probably just tired. Passed out. I swear, I'll kill that evil fuckin' sonuvabitch for doing this to him.'_

"Dean, lemme help ya. We need to get him to a room and see what's up."

If Bobby was in any way as worried as the older Winchester, he sure did his best not to show it in his voice. And Dean was grateful for it.

Looking up, he smirked and nodded his agreement, eyes wide, brimming with fear for Sam.

Bobby bent down and grabbed the unconscious Winchester's long legs and wriggled them out from under the wheel. Huffing audibly, he watched how the older brother readjusted his grip and suddenly froze mid-action. The cold claw that had started squeezing Bobby's heart when he had heard Dean's panicked yell – so alike to the one in Cold Oak – enforced its grasp.

"What the..." Dean looked down at his left hand, smeared with dark, nearly congealed blood. Frantically checking his brother's t-shirt for signs of a wound he pushed the jacket away from the slowly rising chest and blanched when he saw a dark stain. Throwing caution to the wind, he heaved his brother's full weight into his arms, shrugged Bobby's helping hands off and marched towards the entrance of the motel.

"Dean, wait! They're never lettin' you in like that! Lemme get a room first..." the old hunter brushed past Dean with a surprising agility betraying his age and left the worried Winchester standing outside, sweat pouring down his face and back. Yielding to Sam's heavy weight, he sank to his knees again, gently laying his sibling's form on a patch of yellowed grass.

***

Castiel stood by silently, taking in the whirlwind of emotions unfolding around him. Knowing his charge's temper, he had kept his tongue, giving the man time to adjust to the new situation. The angel decided to return to the car and take care of his own kin.

Anna was still sound asleep. Castiel felt a sliver of unease flutter through him and the need to get her out of the backseat and wake her up was almost overwhelming._ 'So, that's what worry feels like.'_ Relishing and regretting the sudden, unexpected emotion at the same time, he climbed into the car again.

"Anna, you have to wake up, now. You can rest again later."

Gentle, soft spoken words pulled the female angel from her dreams. Wearily, she blinked and sighed under the burden of Dean's injury reflecting its effect on her own body.

"How are you?" Castiel's face mirrored the sorrow in his face when he eyed her curiously.

"I'm okay for now." she swallowed a yawn and craned her head to make out their current whereabouts. "Where are we?"

"Buffalo, Wyoming. We found Samuel. He is not well. Dean is taking care of him. I believe we are going to be here for some time. Maybe you should try and lie down in a real bed. You seem to be in pain, Anna. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Stop hovering, Cas. This won't be forever. I'll manage. Help me up and out, please." Anna straightened up and flinched when a wave of nausea accompanied by a breathtaking, piercing stab at her midriff tried to nail her down again.

She gasped and waited until she was sure she would stay conscious, the angel accepted her brother's proffered hand to help her out. Standing outside, knees wobbly, Anna grasped the Chevelle's roof to balance herself.

"I got three rooms. They're 'round the back. Separate entrance, figured that'd be better judgin' by Sam and Anna's conditions. Don't wanna freak out the concierge. You heard me? Concierge! Damn pricey joint."

Bobby gruff voice called Anna back to her surroundings and she turned to face the humans and her celestial brother, just in time to see Dean and the older hunter leveling Sam's dead weight between them. Anna patted her fellow angel on the shoulder and said, "let's go."

Cas held Anna, left arm slung snugly around her waist, trying to ignore her stumbling, weak steps and followed the three hunters leading the way.

Sam's boots scraped along the asphalt, while his arms were wrapped around Bobby and Dean's shoulders, both older men clutching a slack hand, holding on as if their lives depended on it.

***

Finally, arriving at the three adjacent rooms, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily from dragging Sam up the stairs to the third floor, Bobby dug in his back pocket to retrieve the code card to swipe it through the reader. _'Friggin' tech crap. As if that'd make things any easier! Only costs a fortune.'_

The red light flickered and vanished, green blinked into life and the old hunter pushed the handle. The door swung soundlessly inward, inviting them into their temporary home.

Bustling past him, Dean had shouldered Sam once again, eager to get him looked at. "I'm gonna get our stuff then..." Sure he wouldn't be graced with an answer, Bobby turned around, sighed, and set out to the stairwell. Again. _'I'm getting' too old for this crap.' _

***

Blind to the for once beautifully decorated, large room with en suite bathroom, the older Winchester swung his brother unceremoniously onto the first bed. Sam, still unconscious, moaned again sinking deep into the fluffy cushions. Under different circumstances, Dean would have made a joke about a scene from _Nightmare on Elm Street_ when one of the kids had been sucked into Freddy's realm through their bed.

Now, however, the only things commanding his actions were the nasty cut on his baby bro's face and the huge blood stain on his shirt. His brain reacted to years of practice, his father's orders to take care of Sammy drilled so deeply into his character they had become instinct.

Faintly, while fumbling with Sam's t-shirt, he remembered how he had been holding his brother's seizing body in the panic room. Hazel eyes rolled up in his skull, muscles in his limbs rigid with spasms, veins and sinews bulging under the pressure.

A shudder ran through him and then, forcing the image back under the rippled surface of the black ocean of bitter memories, he finally worked the stubborn piece of jersey over his brother's head.

He gulped. "That bastard's gonna pay." Hissing the words out between clenched jaws, Dean bent down to pick up the bag Bobby had just set down on the floor next to him. Singer sighed, realising the older Winchester was too caught up in worrying over his sibling to react directly to his return, and sat down on one of the ornate armchairs, observing the older brother's administrations.

Cleaning the blood smeared edges around the wound, Dean suddenly understood why both injuries had been stitched up so erratically. Knowing his brother, he had expected the younger man's neat needle work but he had overlooked the fact that Sam had been forced to use his left hand. A compassionate frown flicked across Dean's features when he tried to make up for his sibling's shortcomings.

The edges of both cuts were swollen and shone an angry red but other than that they seemed fine. No fresh blood. Still, his brother's skin was clammy enough to cause another wave of panic. Shock or exhaustion. Either way, Sam had to wake up soon to prevent further decline.

"Here," Bobby held out a wet towel.

"Thanks. He's okay as far as I can tell. Just passed out." Hearing the treacherous lie in his own voice, Dean didn't dare look up into Singer's knowing face.

"Where're Cas and Anna by the way?" trying to change the topic, he kept on dabbing with the towel at his sibling's neck, eyes never leaving Sam's slack, gaunt face. _'Wake up dammit. We... I need you to wake up, now. We gotta hunt the Devil. I'm not letting you miss out on the biggest hunt ever, you hear me, bro? I'm not lettin' you. Please, wake up.'_

"Cas took Anna to another room. She looked pale." Bobby decided to play along even though he knew what Dean was doing. Just one look at the older Winchester's taught mouth, the set jaw and the pressed voice had told Singer all the other man had tried to mask.

"Can I be of any help?" Both hunters jerked their heads around in unison at the unexpected question. Castiel stood in the door frame.

"Dude, I'm so gonna buy you one of these cow bells they use in Germany!"

Unperturbed as usual, the angel advanced on the men huddled around Sam's bed. Dean had to do his best to not flinch away watching the swift, almost fluid angelic movements.

Castiel bent over Sam, both hands hovering ten inches above the unconscious man's navel, eyes peering intently into the lifeless face.

"I thought you couldn't do your healing thing anymore," Dean watched as his brother's body trembled slightly.

"Sam's injuries are minor and not of supernatural origin. It will certainly drain my powers a little and it will take longer to restore them now that I am... cut off from heaven. But I can still _do my healing thing_." Castiel smirked, imitating Dean's voice.

"Hey, extra points for trying to crack a joke, Cas. But could you just try and concentrate on what you're doing?" Dean snapped at the angel, less angry than he sounded. Bewildered by the angel's uncharacteristic use of irony, the older Winchester exchanged a questioning look with Bobby. Singer shrugged and busied himself with clearing away the remainder of Dean's medical attempts.

Under Castiel's heavenly hands, both injuries seemed to wilt and fade away slowly. Shrinking back into the flesh they had so terribly ripped apart, the cuts closed over and the suture threads unwound themselves and crinkled into non-existence. Just when the chest wound resembled a darkened spot, almost like an overgrown freckle, and the cut on the cheek had become a bold but thin gash, the angel's hands shuddered violently.

Pulling them away, Castiel broke the healing connection and rubbed his palms against each other, feeling as if he had sustained an electric shock. Swaying slightly, he backed away from the bed and leaned against the cool wall.

"You okay, Cas?" genuine worry laced Dean's words and the angel answered him gratefully.

"I'll be fine. It just took more energy than I had expected. And there were some remnants of Lucifer's presence in him. Yet, completely unlike in you. I think your brother devoured some of his essence."

A hint of disgust layered with anger pierced through Dean when he understood what Castiel was trying to say._ 'So, we're back to drinking blood then, are we?' _

The unconscious hunter moved sleepily, rolled over to his right and shoved his arm under his head. Trying to get comfortable on the unusually soft mattress, Sam pulled his legs up and sighed with somnolent relief.

"But he's okay now, right? You healed him?"

"Yes."

"And it's not temporary?"

"No." Castiel walked over to the other bed and sank down on it, exhaustion apparent in his posture. "And I think I might have cured some of his physical dependency, too."

"Good. Um. You wanna lie down or whatever it is you angels do when you're tired?" Dean looked from Sam to Castiel, feeling responsible for the celestial creature's weakness.

"We don't sleep." It was a reflexive answer, born from exertion. And before he could elaborate, Dean had already caught up.

"So, how's Anna?"

"Resting. She wanted to take a shower." Castiel tried to change the topic. There were more pressing matters at hand than Dean torturing himself for Anna's calamity. "In the meantime, we should try to find out where Lucifer is."

The older Winchester accepted the angel's obvious attempt to redirect their conversation and asked, "Yeah, but how? And how're we gonna kill him anyway?"

"Chuck. We need to call him, maybe he has had another vision." Wishing he could for once in his existence sleep, Cas brushed a hand over his face trying to focus. "And we need Michael's assistance to kill Lucifer in the end. Only my brother's sword can kill him."

"Yeah, you said that before. But how's he gonna help us if your ex-bosses don't want you doin' this anyway?"

"He won't have a choice. Not if we are … how would you say it? Playing our cards right." A mysterious grin tugged at Castiel's mouth and he was surprised to find himself gleeful.

"Meaning?" Dean was becoming increasingly exasperated. This new, joking Cas didn't sit well with him. Truth be told, the angel spooked him.

"Meaning we will force him to collaborate by using a Latin prayer called _Defende Nos In Proelio_. Humans have been praying to him like that for ages, not knowing that those among you that are of celestial ancestry can actually force him to do their bidding. Of course, it comes at a price but still. He has to comply." Castiel was filled with a multitude of emotions. Glee, vindictiveness, remorse and guilt performed a _danse macabre_ in his essence, trampling and stampeding every bit of angelic countenance into the ground.

Dean however found himself reeling with one tiny bit of information. "At a price?"

"Oh," pulled from his unease, Castiel looked up right into Dean's suspicious eyes. "Yes. Michael needs a host of course. How else would he be able to wield his sword? Only an angel can kill another angel."

"A host. Of course. Piece o' cake. How're we gonna find a suitable meatsuit for the friggin' general of the heavenly host?" Trepidation grabbed Dean's heart in a vice-like grip. _'Oh, please, don't say it. Don't.'_ He closed his eyes waiting for the angel's reply.

"The person who says the prayer will be his vessel." Sam's voice was thick with residual sleepiness. "We need to find one of those guys with angel ancestors, right Cas?" He yawned, oblivious to what he had just pointed out. Obviously, Sam had finally woken up during their conversation at some point, but was still battling the exhausting effects of the last days.

"No. We don't have to find one. We already have one. Or two to be precise." The angel looked at both Winchesters and nodded.

"No, there has to be another way, Cas. I ain't let him use my body. Or Sam's for that matter. We've got to find another way." Imploringly, he stepped closer to the angel, while inwardly terror and disgust were warring for predominance.

Sam gaped at the two elder men, head swiveling between them, cogs whirring and sputtering.

"Wait a minute. Why us?"

_~TBC~_

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**End Notes: **

**Thanks for reading!****  
**

Prayer to St Michael:

_Sancte Michael Archangel, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur tuque, Princeps militiae coelestis, Satanam aliosoque malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen_

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. And do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.

Information about the Grigori and Nephilim can be found on wikipedia. Go check it out, it's worth it!

I know I am getting real close to the show with the whole vessel business. But as the story is set after 4.21 everything before that is fair game including The Rapture. In that episode we got introduced to the host/vessel idea as well as to the blood-theme. The idea of the Winchesters being descendants of the fallen angels is my most important topic and hasn't been voiced in the show so far. This idea was conceived long before I started writing this story and I have actually written some entries in my LiveJournal about destiny, blood and fallen angels. And most importantly, the bloodline theme sparked this whole story.

Having said all that, I hope I am allowed to use the vessel/host concept in the story as it is essential to the showdown. Please, feel free to discuss this with me.


	11. Problem Shared, Problem Halved?

**Title:** End of Days  
**Author: **RoweenaC  
**Characters: **Sam, Dean, Bobby, Anna, Castiel  
**Genre:** hurt/comfort, angst, action  
**Rating: **M  
**Chapter: **11/?,  
**Warnings: **Spoilers for season 4 (up to 4.21) and accidental spoilers for some concepts used in season 5

**Usual disclaimer: **Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.  
**Summary:**

**_***Accidental Spoilers for some concepts in Season 5**** _**Sequel to **Links **

_Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways... _**"So, you really think you could do it? Kill me? Kill **_Sammy_**?" **_(follows mostly canon up to 4.21; after that AU)_

**A/N: **So, after a ridiculously long hiatus on this story, I kinda feel I owe you guys an apology. My muse has been an elusive bitch lately and I owe it to the Huntergirls and the wonderful weekend at the barn that she finally found her way back to me. I've struggled with this chapter since January wanting to prove those of you who voted for the story during the UnGen awards right (hugest thanks for that, still makes me blush to look at the award-banner). But it just never really worked. Numerous entries on my Facebook and Twitter bear witness to my efforts (thanks, Julie, for your never wavering support there, and to you Tree, soothing my anger with myself, grounding me and raising me up again).

I am still not that happy with the chapter but I reckon it won't get any better.

My hugest thanks -as usual- go out to Cal (graceofgod) for beta'ing and simply for being an awesome friend. She did her best. All remaining mistakes are mine.

And now: HAVE AT IT!

* * *

_**End of Days**_

_by RoweenaC_

Chapter 11: Problem Shared, Problem Halved?

"... while individually we are linked to one another..."  
~ Romans, 12:15 ~

"... Bear ye one another's burdens..."  
~ Galatians, 6:2 ~

The world warbled, shimmered. She grabbed the door handle for support as the double vision threatened to overwhelm her. Pain. Excruciating agony washed over her until she finally caught her breath, first panting then slowly breathing deeper. Calming, shuddering deep breaths. She closed her eyes against the swirling images spiraling around her and concentrated on filling the lungs of her human vessel. Sensing capillaries billowing and shrinking rhythmically. An eerie yet still familiar sensation. Since the necklace had first touched her skin the feeling of being more like her previous human self had become gradually harder to ignore. She welcomed the familiar sensation. It reminded her of the time before she had known about her celestial descent. Before she had lost her innocent belief in humanity. Before Anna had found out what pain and loss truly meant.

The amulet was a burning, hot presence around her slender neck, resting against her chest like a millstone, weighing her Grace down, pulling her down with the force of gravity, anchoring her floaty, airy essence. A constant tugging sensation, little more than an annoyance just a tad from being painful.

Dean's deviated agony however was a different matter. Somehow her being an angel seemed to strengthen the effects of Lucifer's tainting residue, rendered the pain almost unbearable. Anna had expected some discomfort and hurt, had willingly accepted those side-effects of her actions. Yet she hadn't counted on it coming so early. If anything she would have bet on the effects to show much later.

She didn't regret her sacrifice nor did she regard it as the blasphemous act her celestial brother had been afraid of. It was a necessary risk. The only way to keep Dean alive as long as possible. They needed him to stop Lucifer. Even with a healthy Dean and now Sam they still had little more than a snowball's chance in hell to stop the apocalypse.

Castiel's toneless, emotionless voice echoed dully in her feverish mind, telling Dean about his destiny and about the bloodline forcing him and his brother to be punching balls for the Powers That Be. For her Father's plan.

Oh, how she longed for His presence and comfort, how she missed the certainty of Him being there and looking out for all of His children and creation. There was a downside to falling from Grace. Free will and emotions came at a high price even if she had never regretted her choice. Neither did she regret her decision to wear the amulet but it too cost her dearly. Loneliness swept over her and held her in a vice-like grip, aggravating the throbbing pain in her belly. She was now completely cut off from Heaven's peace, couldn't hear her angelic siblings anymore. Not since the amulet had touched her skin. Fear writhed and slithered its way into her essence.

Anna took another deep, steadying breath and turned the key in the lock, a subconscious and very human gesture, trying to regain her composure away from prying eyes, keeping out intruders – be they ethereal or corporeal.

A soft, saddened chuckle escaped her lips contemplating the fact that Cas would not be stopped by a door nor would he realize his intrusion as such. Cautiously, Anna lowered herself down on the rim of the bathtub, the amulet swinging stingingly against her flesh. It was no good. She had made the choice and now she had to suffer the consequences. Free will was a bitch sometimes.

Her vision blurred again when an extremely painful flare seared along the nerve tracks on her ribcage and wound its way around her spine up into the base of her skull. A suppressed, agonized yell barreled into her teeth. All air was pushed out of her lungs, building up against the ivory barricade and finally blasting its way free, spraying bright red droplets on the white sink in front of her. Anna was thrown forward by the unnatural force causing the wet cough. Unable to brace herself in time she fell, the world tilting on its axis.

Tiny, tickling, crimson drops continued running down her chin when an explosion of utter agony, originating in her right temple, annihilated any remnants of coherent thought in her brain.

The tiles were cold against her hot, now blood sprinkled face. Soothingly cold.

***

Dean gasped, grabbing his amulet. "Something's wrong."

He jumped up and ran out to the hallway leaving Bobby, Cas and Sam to look at each other puzzled – for a mere blink of an eye. Then, all three men imitated the older Winchester and raced from the room to find Dean yelling and pulling at Cas and Anna's bathroom door, outer door still swinging on its hinges.

"Anna?! Dammit, open the door! ANNA!"

Empty air sucked back into place when Castiel disappeared from Sam's side. The younger Winchester barely even quirked an eyebrow at the angel's wordless exit but crossed the remaining distance with two long strides, hammered his fist against the wooden door and joined Dean yelling for Anna.

Dean's voice betrayed his fear for the angel locked inside and Sam would have sworn his sibling's hands shook a little as they pulled desperately at the brass handle. The taller hunter rammed his left shoulder into the obstinate door, feeling it give a little, relishing the creak of splintering fiberboard, a hinge protested shrilly. Prepared for another attempt, he swung his full weight against the resilient barrier bracing himself for the impact- only, it never came.

Having closed his eyes reflexively before, Sam now pried them open in bewilderment. Arms wheeling around him, he tumbled forward into the confined space of the hotel bathroom, right into Castiel's firm, statuesque figure waiting, back toward them, in front of a crumpled form lying on the floor.

"Nguh. Ouch!" Sam peeled himself off the steely, trench-coated back, rubbing his cheek. The angel didn't let on any sign of having noticed Sam's collision. A quick snort at his side told him Dean had. Without any further comment however, his brother's shoulder brushed against his arm as he attempted to push past Sam's tall, bulky form.

"Cas? What's wrong with Anna? She... she isn't...", his brother's voice hoarse from yelling, trailed off, guilt a palpable presence in the already uncomfortably crowded room, rendering the air too toxic to breathe.

Sam stepped back behind Dean, making room for his brother to see around the still unmoving male angel. Kneeling down beside Anna, Dean brushed a few stray, ginger strands back from her face, a jaw muscle twitching when he saw the bright red on her milky complexion. There was no mistaking the tremors in Dean's hands this time as they searched for her carotid pulse.

Worried hysteria shot a quick thought through Sam's head. _Did angel vessels have a carotid pulse? _He sucked air through barely parted lips, suppressing a weak sigh when Dean turned Anna around on her back. Her white t-shirt, neck and chin were sprinkled with blood, the amulet between her breasts a falsely innocent, golden gleam on crimson canvas.

***

Finally, Cas moved. In one fluid motion, he stepped over Anna's body and bent down to grab her around neck and waist. Dean swung backwards on his heels to avoid the female angel's head from colliding into his, long red hair caressing his cheeks.

Castiel didn't even rise fully from his crouched position but popped out of the room, leaving the Winchesters gaping behind. Sam looked at Dean, noted the pallor in his face, the way the corners of his mouth pointed downward, saw the Adam's apple jumping up and down as his brother gulped several times. Pain or worry. Or both. Sam sighed and held out his hand.

Dean nodded, allowing his little brother to pull him to his feet.

"You good?" A concerned whisper so Bobby wouldn't hear and spare Dean possible humiliation.

Another nod and Dean turned on his heels, bustling past Sam and then Bobby, who had remained silently in the small passageway between bathroom and bedroom. Sam caught the older man's inquiring stare and shrugged before he followed his brother into the main room.

***

Cas, eyes closed and face taut in concentration, was standing over Anna's unconscious body, hands hovering over her belly and forehead. Dean had hunkered down beside the other side of the single bed, his face a mask of evident guilt and unhidden compassion.

Arcs of blindingly bright blue electricity sparked from the angel's palms. Anna's torso was lifted halfway from the mattress, hung suspended on invisible energy cords, curved spine-breakingly backwards, twitching and twisting in their grip. The ethereal brightness focused on the amulet, spiked outward of its brass form and erupted into a small, crackling dome of lightning bolts around the female angel.

Sam, having missed the previous healing sessions to save Dean's life, jerked back, gasping audibly.

"What the...", he cut himself off and recovered slightly when neither Dean nor Castiel nor Bobby seemed perturbed by the events.

A tremor shook through Castiel's human form, hands never leaving their place, and he frowned in a mixture of pain and determination.

"Stop. Stop, Cas!" Dean rose from his crouch and made to round the bed, when, finally, the male angel broke the healing contact and the dome imploded. Sparks coursed over Anna's body, seeping back into her flesh, drowning themselves in her living tissue.

Castiel reared back and sank down on the neighboring bed, chin touching his chest, shoulders hunched, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

Everything seemed to have come to a halt, giving all of them a second to breathe.

Bewildered, Sam's eyes searched for Bobby's. The old hunter grimaced and moved over to the other bed, now occupied by an exhausted Castiel. Singer came to a stop and, unsure whether he should touch the heavenly creature to offer support, he turned around again to look at Dean and Anna. The obvious helplessness of the old man added to the younger Winchester's feeling of unease. If Bobby didn't know how to react accordingly things must be bad. Really bad.

Sam stood, clueless in the middle of the room, looking from one bed to the other, questions racing through his mind, toppling over words of comfort and concern. He smirked sourly at the thought that he suddenly understood the meaning behind the expression _thunderstruck_.

His normally quick-thinking brain waded through molasses, trying to process the events of the last hour. First he had dodged death – yet again. Then, he had been forced to wrap his mind around a whole new world of information about his family and their role in the apocalypse. Now this.

His strained musings ended abruptly when his gaze alighted on Dean's face and he allowed his eyes to truly observe his brother's composure for the first time. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Dean's right arm was curled around his midriff, his breath came in shallow gasps, while his left hand was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. Most troublingly, Dean was drenched in sweat as if he had just run a marathon. His usually spiky hair was plastered to his skull, his shirt soaked, sticking to his chest like black skin. Mimicking tears, the salty liquid poured down his cheeks and temples, dripping down from his chin with every shuddering breath he took.

Puzzled, Sam stepped closer and laid a hand on his brother's upper arm. He almost pulled it back again instantly when he sensed the unhealthy heat emanating from Dean's body.

His brother didn't move, didn't show any sign of being aware of Sam's attempt to rouse him to his present surroundings. Dean just kept staring at Anna, lost in thought.

The tension inside Sam reached boiling point and he couldn't bear it anymore. Breaking the silent spell shrouding the room, his mouth formed the most pressing question.

"What the hell was that?"

A hounded look in his eyes, Sam grabbed Dean by his shoulders and forced his brother's gaze upon his face.

"Dean? Answer me! What's going on? And don't you _dare_ tell me you're alright, 'cause that's a lie! And I won't take any crap from you, not today! Not after all this!" A flicker of distress crossed his sibling's face before the blank mask slid back into place. Sam scowled and made to shake Dean again.

"Easy, boy. Give him some space," Bobby's tone was soothing but its warning undertone wasn't lost on Sam. The younger Winchester knew the risk of forcing his brother to react. A shiner would be the least painful outcome if Dean resorted to his hunter instincts. The taller man eased the grip on his sibling's shoulders, yet kept staring into the other's blank face. The far-away look bothered Sam. _Dammit, Dean. What's going on with you?_

Slowly coming out of his reverie, Dean blinked, eyes still misted over with unspoken words and feelings. He staggered, took a deep, hitching breath and grinned mirthlessly.

"You know me. I'd lie on my deathbed."

"Not. Funny. Dean. Spill it!"

His voice broke on the last words, softening the harsh order into a plea. Sam hated himself for it. He knew it was a reflex, honed to perfection by years of a being a younger brother applying to his protective older brother. But it was a low blow. Still, it had never failed to yield success, today obviously being no exception.

Dean's shoulders sagged a little and Sam's hands slid off, giving the older man room to maneuver.

"Uh, well. Anna, here, was wearing..." A dry cough either to clear his throat or to buy himself some time before he had to admit the unbearable truth. "The... uh, the amulet. Y'know, the one _you_ said you didn't have anymore. Remember?" The flat tone morphed into a pitiful attempt at reproach. "I asked you about it... and you said... you couldn't find it?" The words came slowly, struggling as if they had to fight their way out of his brother.

Dean looked away, still grinning fiercely, while his right hand now cupped a spot on his tummy that made Sam's subconscious cringe. Swallowing his worry for a few more minutes, the tall hunter stepped sideways, bringing himself back into Dean's line of vision. He heard Bobby shuffle his feet uncomfortably. Castiel remained silent, as if he wasn't there at all.

"No, I'm not buyin' into this. You're not gonna twist this back on me. What's goin' on, Dean? The truth. NOW."

Dean sighed, hung his head for moment, obviously gathering strength to come clean.

"We used the amulet to share the effects of the... stab wound. Y'know... uh. The one from Ruby's knife?" His brother's green eyes pleaded for Sam to understand, begging him to spare them both from reliving the terrible events in detail.

And Sam did understand, all too well. Dean was talking about the beach. About what Lucifer had done. About what Sam had let him do. Bonelessly, Sam sank down on Anna's bed. The female angel still hadn't regained consciousness.

"Yeah. I remember," he replied almost inaudibly. Sam suddenly wished for Dean to stop. Who cared what was happening? _Just stop. Don't talk about it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean. _

But now that the first few sentences were out, his brother was on a roll. Sam hunched his shoulders to shelter himself from the impact of further unwanted revelations.

"That wound... it had some of Luci's filthy essence in it. And it, um, it got worse and worse until Dr. Angel MD here," Dean cocked his head into Cas' direction and went on. "Said he couldn't really help anymore. So, Anna came up with the idea of using the amulet and its twin. We found it and Anna put it on. We figured it would last longer than it actually did. Obviously, angels are different from humans in more than the fluffy wings aspect." Dean snorted halfheartedly. "Too bad."

Sam knew his brother was brushing over the facts, was leaving out the emotional side of things, trying to make it easier for Sam and, ultimately, for himself.

"How bad was it?"

The words had barely left his mouth, cutting through the screaming silence in the room. The younger Winchester shrank back from his own question, torn between the desire to know all the facts and the fear of pushing his brother too far, of hearing more than he wanted to. _He was dying and he doesn't wanna tell me, protective son of a bitch that he is. So why the heck do I wanna hear him say it? What good's it gonna do for both of us? Share the friggin' load? More like, let's heap a little more guilt on the Mount Everest of things-better-left-undone. _The ghost of his brother's voice wafted through his mind. _'You overshare.'_

_Damn right, I do._

No-one replied and Sam nodded. He looked up at Dean, jaws set and staring in the distance, no doubt his mind was dwelling on the events that led to their current dilemma.

"So, now what, Dean? Anna obviously can't handle the amulet. That's why you took it, right?"

Sam's eyes burned holes in Dean's left fist. An idea nibbled at the edges of his swirling mind. An idea his brother would hate, would fight tooth and nail to prevent from happening. However, on some level, Sam knew this was the way it was supposed to be. Just like when he had been a kid and decided that Dean should have the amulet instead of John. It felt like destiny. It felt right.

Maybe that was why he had kept the amulet, even after Dean had been torn to pieces by the hellhound. After he had buried his brother's broken body, leaving nothing behind but a lonely amulet in Sam's palm. After he had been forced to pile dirt on the coffin and watch Bobby put up the rough cross.

Cutting ice crept into Sam's heart, covering his soul and mind with frosty flower patterns. He pushed hard against the memories threatening to freeze him in despair, and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. Eventually, the ice melted and he was able to breathe again.

Sam had kept the amulets apart, carrying Dean's as a token around his own neck during those lonely summer months. It had served as a constant reminder for his desire to take revenge, had fueled his determination to kill Lilith every time his eyes had found it in the mirror. But it never really became _his_ amulet.

The other one though, Amy's necklace, had been stored away safely. He had felt like he was hiding a part of himself with it. It had hurt to leave it behind, like saying goodbye to a loved one. At the time he had written it off to the recent loss of his brother and his own failure to save Dean from Hell. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"What if...", Sam trailed off, surprised he had spoken out loud. But Dean had caught on instantly, stepping away from his brother. He threw a look at Sam that would have been intimidating even to Lucifer, had he not been shaking violently by then.

"No," he growled. "Don't. Say. It. Not gonna happen."

"Why? When it's the only way? I can handle it! I'm as far from being an angel as you are!" Sam jumped to his feet, stopping himself from pulling his sibling around. _Dean's in pain_, he reminded himself.

"Care to explain this cryptic discussion?" Bobby's gruff, annoyed voice brought both Winchesters back to their surroundings. The old man had a puzzled, worried look on his face. Castiel, still sitting on the bed, eyed them between half-closed eyes, one hand supporting his head, the embodiment of utter exhaustion.

Sam shrugged. "I'm gonna wear the amulet."

"You're NOT. I won't let you!" Dean rounded Anna's bed to bring more distance between him and the tall hunter's reach, visibly stumbling on wobbly knees. Leaning against the wall opposite the foot of the bed, he squared his shoulders, wincing when the motion tugged at the scar on his belly, and threw his brother a challenging look.

A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in Sam. "Won't let me? How you're gonna _stop_ me? Sweat and shake me to death? Dude, you're on the brink of fainting already. We don't have the time to argue!"

"I don't faint! And I'm not having this discussion." Dean sounded seriously offended. And weak. _He's struggling, the way he holds himself, the taut line around his mouth. Time to act, Winchester. He's gonna have my ass for it but it's the only way._

Sam moved too quickly for Dean to react in time and prevent the crushing weight of his taller brother from pushing him against the wall, rendering him unable to move an inch. Clasping his large hand around Dean's fist, Sam flinched touching the clammy skin there. The unnerving lack of resistance from his gasping sibling worried him even more. _He's worse than I thought._

Forcing his brother's fingers apart one by one with his right hand, he held Dean with the back of his other arm against his upper chest suspended, trying not to hurt the weakened man any further but to pin him down and stop him from breaking loose.

The older hunter tried to wriggle out of his grip, even landed a kick with his steel-capped boot, painfully connecting with Sam's knee. The younger Winchester hissed in pain, taken aback by the seemingly endless supply of energy his brother commanded even in his current state, and suppressed an annoyed retort. Instead he enforced his hold and felt Dean sag, fist opening fully all of a sudden, head lolling limply over Sam's forearm.

"No! Crap, no!"

A soft thunk on the carpet, indicating the amulet coming to a rest on the fabric, was nearly drowned out by Sam's labored breathing, chest hitching with choked sobs. He reacted instinctively and supported his brother's dead weight with both of his arms now, guilty panic coursing full force through his system, eradicating any residual thought about the necklace.

"Dean? DEAN? Bobby, help me!" Sam yelled, his voice booming through the room.

Suddenly, the tight quarters were filled with action. Anna was stirring drowsily on her bed, Castiel heaved himself up and crossed over to her, narrowly avoiding bumping into Singer, who was running to assist Sam with his burden.

***

Together, Bobby and Sam carried Dean's limp body over to the now vacated bed and laid him down gently. The younger Winchester kicked himself mentally for using too much force on his sibling minutes ago fearing he had profoundly added to Dean's condition.

His hands shook as he saw the growing, dark stain on the lower left side of his brother's abdomen. Before he could stop himself, his mind summoned up the terrible image of his own hands sinking Ruby's knife deep into Dean's flesh, twisting the handle. Echoes of a muffled groan and the overlaying laughter, rang painfully in his ears, threatening to tear his eardrums apart.

His insides froze, mind going blank. Restlessly, his head swiveled this way and that, desperately trying to find a way to help his still unconscious sibling. Kneeling down beside Dean, he grasped the clammy hand closest to him, rubbing it feverishly.

"Dean? Come on, Dean. Wake up. Fight it, man. You gotta fight it. Crap, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sam went on with the litany until it became his mantra, pleading with his brother as if he could talk him back into awareness, while frantically wracking his brain to find a way out. There was a way, he knew it. It had been there just seconds ago. The solution to all of their problems. It remained elusive like a dream in the morning, until his searching gaze brushed over Dean's shallowly rising and falling chest. The amulet.

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, berating himself for his own stupidity and only barely stopping short of slapping himself over the head, Sam refrained from swearing out loud. The words crossing his mind would have made Dean proud.

In the fraction of a second, the tall hunter jumped to his feet, literally dived for the forgotten necklace lying idly on the carpet, slung it around his neck and waited, holding his breath nervously._ PleasePleasePleasePlease. _

_***_

Bobby gaped at the quickly unfolding actions, speechless, eyes finally glued to the gleaming amulet around the tall hunter's neck. Clearing his befuddled mind, he shook his head and returned his gaze back to Dean's sweat-beaded face, wishing and praying with all his might Sam's decision would work in their favor.

No doubt the elder brother would throw a full blown tantrum once he regained consciousness and realized what the other had done but it was their only hope. And somehow, Singer knew it was the right thing to do. He promised himself to back up Sam should Dean choose to tear him apart. There were times in your life when you had to make tough decisions and Bobby had had his fair share of those moments, yessir. Surely the apocalypse and Satan resurrected on a killing spree 'cross country ranked high on that list. Even Dean Winchester would see reason here. Or so he hoped.

_'M gettin' too old for this. Goddammit. _And for the first time in months, Singer felt the need to drown his sorrow in the oblivious, indifferent depths of a bottle of liquor.

He watched as Sam crouched down next to his brother, again, saw the hounded look in his eyes and his heart shattered into a million pieces. He knew it too well. Had seen it too many times. Had witnessed what came after.

The silence had been the worst part. Never had he dreamed to live to see the day that boy would shut up so completely and utterly. And he desperately hoped never to be privy to that particular side of Sam Winchester again. Even Dean grieving about his dead brother hadn't been as hard to cope with, if only for the short time he had been forced to watch. Anger he could deal with, tears were harder.

The brooding, depressed silence, however, and the ensuing gradual withdrawal from the world, those had been ailments Bobby had known no remedy for. And it had rubbed off on him as well. Singer grimaced as he remembered himself working through two bottles of whiskey before nightfall by the end of summer.

His musings were cut short when Dean moved slightly on the bed, moaning softly. Eyes still shut, his trembling hand fumbled with the t-shirt obviously blindly investigating the condition of his injury before allowing himself to look into presumably pitying faces. Bobby rolled his eyes at the Winchester's inability to let others see him frail and hurting. _One of these days, Dean, that'll be the death of you. _

***

_Gawd, I gotta stop fainting. Oops, better not let Sammy hear that. Let's rephrase that. Uh, what about … I have to stop closing my eyes unless I'm actually sleeping. Yeah, that's better. _

_Dude. This is freaking embarrassing. Face planting like a narcoleptic every so often. Like River-freaking-Phoenix in that weirdo movie. What's it called again? My Private Indiana? Nah, close but not it. Idaho. Gem State, yeah that's it. Heh, dude kissed the tarmac more often than Paris Hilton changed her outfit._

_I just wish the pain would stop soon. I've had about enough to last me a lifetime. Lying here'd be so much more fun without it. _

_I could do with a hot chick to nurse me back to health though. Someone like … um. Let's see... Lisa was fun... the things she could do with her body. Aahh. Good times. _

_Or Cassie. Best part was the sex after a heated... um... discussion. _

_Or Anna. Talk about a match made in heaven. Sex up on cloud number nine, yeah I could do with that now. I wonder how it'd differ from that night in the Impala. Mmmh, Anna. Angel fruit cake. Wait...No._

Something stirred in his soul, he tried to turn away from it, wanting to hang on to his fantasy, desperately grasping for oblivion's blissful touch. To no avail.

A throbbing tug near his navel washed away the peaceful musings, bleeding reality into his dream scape. He relented and, trying to still the dull twinge, fumbled with stiff fingers at his surprisingly wet t-shirt, digging for the source of the intrusion. Calloused fingers caught on sore, swollen and moist skin, jarring at barely healed flesh, aggravating the uncomfortable pull back into the real world. _Ah crap. _

A soft moan tumbled from his tired, cracked lips before he could swallow it back down and add it to the lump of bottled up emotions growing like a tumor in his heart.

His moving hand was cool, soothing the inflamed skin on his belly, very much unlike his left hand. That one, however, was unnervingly hot and started to get sore. A constant feeling of friction heat radiated up his arm, yet he couldn't escape it. Couldn't even move it a tiny bit. Dean flexed his biceps, attempting to pull his limb out of the unseen, rigid bear-trap keeping it in place. He wondered how it was that he couldn't feel blood running down his hand nor sharp, iron teeth gnawing on his bones. On the contrary, how ever unrelenting the grip was, it was soft as well. Gentle even. Like...

"S'mee?"

"Dean? Yeah, I'm here. Heyheyhey, no don't go back to sleep. Stay with me, man." His brother's urging, pleading tone cleared away the lingering cobwebs of oblivion.

"Sam?"

"Yeah." Another heat wave flared up Dean's arm.

"Dude, enough with the hand-holding."

"Uh, sorry."

Part of him grieved the sudden freedom of his hand, wanting the comfort, welcoming its soothing effect. That part also desperately wished to go back to his dream and curl up in the warm embrace of a woman. He scowled at himself, despising his weakness, shoving it far away as if its mere presence would taint him eternally.

"Wha' happen'd?" Yawning, he opened his eyes for the first time, looking right into Sam's worried hazels. The fear of losing his brother jumped out at Dean and he jerked back a little, quickly covering it as a roll of his shoulders. _That bad, huh? Sorry, Sammy. _And it all came back, gushing like the Niagara falls. His right hand flew up to wrap around the amulet, wild eyes searching out the place on the carpet where he suddenly remembered its twin was waiting. Should be.

"No! No, Sam."

The empty spot on the beige polyester seemed to mock his defeat and he tore his eyes from it, focusing on the golden gleam dangling on his brother's chest.

"I told you not to. Take it off. NOW!" Throwing Sam a burning hot glare, he pushed himself upright, glad to see his brother flinch away a little. The guilt on Sam's face was replaced by flat out stubbornness in an instant. And Dean knew he was beat.

"Not happening, bro'. It was the only way and you know it. So, stop complainin'. This is how it was s'posed to be. I can feel it. You have to feel it, too!"

The persuasive and almost crazed tone in Sam's voice sealed Dean's demise. He broke eye-contact, fighting back words he knew he would regret dearly the second they left his mouth. Torn between agreeing with Sam and the irrational need to protect his brother from another irredeemable mistake, he brushed a hand over his face, wishing he could wipe away the worry that had stolen its way into his heart at the latest turn of events.

Searching for a less dangerous topic to talk about, he looked around the room, stopping to grin a lopsided smile at Bobby, who had kept silent all the way. He was rewarded with an exasperated growl, when the old hunter squared his shoulders and nodded. No help from that side. Maybe the angels would support his point of view. Castiel had spoken out against using the amulet before and Anna knew its effects well enough by now. Looking around Sam, careful not to cross his line of vision again, he gasped.

The room was empty apart from the three hunters. No angels silently standing on sentinel duty. No far away look in a pensive face. No fierce, determined face. Neither Cas nor Anna were watching over them.

Cold claws of forebodings wrapped around Dean's heart and squeezed it.

"What the hell?"

_~TBC~

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**End Notes:**Thanks for reading!


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